Raising Harry: La Vida Muggle
by aramie.greyson
Summary: AU. Harry is raised in the muggle world, by an American muggle 'witch'. OC heavy. First in a series. See author's profile for full summary.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** You might recognize the name of the woman who adopts Harry in this story – never fear, I know the real Aurilia and have her permission to use her as a character in my story. Actually, she was even my beta! Most of her personality remains true to who she really is, though her history and much of her life as I've relayed it is nothing more than poetic license on my part.

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**Raising Harry, Book One  
**_La Vida Muggle_

There are theories that exist which try to explain how the universe is put together in all its infinite variety. One such theory states that for every major choice faced by humankind, an entirely new universe is formed, exploring what would have happened if the other choice had been taken. The most poetic expression of this theory is found in Robert Frost's 'The Road Less Traveled,' wherein the poet ends with the line, "and I, I took the road less traveled by, and _that_ has made all the difference." What difference this made is left to the interpretation of the reader, as all good poems allow their readers some analytical outlet. This tale is an exploration of the difference a single choice can make in the world; an ultimate expression of the question 'what-if?' Read it if you will, but do keep in mind that repercussions of even the simplest choices can have far-reaching consequences.

**Chapter One: Aurilia Westlake**

In the year 1978, Aurilia Westlake's life began to change. Her father, a professor of folk-culture at Iowa State University, was killed in a car accident that Christmas Eve; the accident caused by too much holiday cheer on the part of a middle-aged woman. Aurilia's mother followed a scant three months later; and years later, Aurilia still had nightmares about finding her mom in a bathtub filled with blood. At the time, she was nineteen and just finishing her sophomore year at the same university where her father had taught for over fifteen years. When the school year drew to a close, Aurilia decided to put her schooling on hold whilst she used some time figuring out what to do with her life; she had spent the majority of her life doing what her parents had asked and expected of her, and with them gone, she was more than just a little lost. She took a portion of her father's life-insurance money and disappeared to Europe.

It wasn't as hard as most would have assumed for her to leave her previous life behind. She had no friends and no remaining family. It was always easier for her to find company in books than people, and those few people who shared her affinity for the written word were invariably driven off by her open admittance of her faith. Though she lived in one of the most populous Christian regions of the US, she and her parents were Wiccan. By the time she packed a backpack and left Ames, Iowa, she took a perverse pleasure in telling people she was a witch and watching them become uneasy, or, taken to the extreme, inform her she would be spending her afterlife in a hell in which she did not believe. She found it deliciously funny.

Once in Europe, she spent most of the summer in Spain; having lived six years of her life in one Spanish course or another, she felt it was a good place to start. By the time that August drew to a close, she was fully fluent in the language, and had learned all the curses and oaths that her teachers had refused to share. The fall of 1979 was spent touring the cathedrals of Germany and France. She managed to get slightly airsick on the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, and was escorted to the ground level by a handsome Frenchman that didn't speak a word of English or Spanish. Winter was spent along the French Riviera, and by the time 1980 dawned, she finally knew enough French to get along, though her accent was horrible – which drew no few dirty looks in her direction – and she was nowhere near fluent; at least she was able to order food, obtain a hotel room, and find the bathroom without _too_ much difficulty. Spring found her in Western Germany, and she spent Beltane – May first – in Berlin, drinking German beer and getting her picture taken in front of the Berlin Wall. By the start of summer, she figured it was about time to investigate Amsterdam, and, upon looking back on it years later, she was unable to remember much beyond the first afternoon and her first experience with a pot-laced-brownie and cup of coffee strong enough to crawl out of the cup and dance a jig out the door – or so she recalled. She did remember, though, that as August faded into September, she found herself on a ferry to Great Britain, vague notions of spending Halloween – Samhain – at Stonehenge.

It was a complete shock to her, however, that she was still in the UK a full year later. She found that she loved the country more than any other place she'd visited. It also intrigued her that most people weren't as put off by her faith as they were in the US. She knew in her heart, though, that Iowa was her home, and she would return… eventually. On the afternoon of November first, 1981, Aurilia woke up with a moderate hangover – a lingering remnant of the festivities of the night before. That year she hadn't spent the holiday at Stonehenge, though. She held a private ceremony in her small hotel room, and then proceeded to get completely plastered at the hotel bar. The hotel in which she was staying was on the far outskirts of London, in an area where all the houses were identical and sat in identical yards on identical streets, with only the odd tree, business, or gas station breaking the monotony. Knowing that little else worked for her hangovers, she bundled herself into her fluffy white coat and stepped outside to take a walk. She let her mind wander over her travels as her feet led her wherever they may.

It was nearing midnight, and getting quite chilly, when the last vestiges of her headache finally disappeared. She shook her head and tucked a stray lock of curly auburn hair behind her ear. She pushed her glasses further up her nose and looked around, trying to remember just how she got to where she was. A street sign proclaimed her to be on Privet Drive, at the corner of Wisteria Walk. That was good – her hotel was on Wisteria Walk – so she wasn't too far from where she needed to be. She was just about to head back to the hotel when a noise caught her attention. It seemed to be coming from a couple of houses down the block. Wondering if anyone was hurt – the noise had sounded like a faint whimper – she hurried down the street, pausing every now and then to hear if another noise would draw her any closer to her goal. Now, this is where the earlier discussion of choice comes into play, for in another world, Aurilia hadn't turned down this street in the early morning hours of November second; instead, she decided she'd been imagining things and had returned to her hotel for a shower and some hot coffee. In this world, though, she pursued the faint whimpers down the street, eventually locating the source as a bundle of blankets on the front stoop of a house with a large brass number four on its brown brick wall.

Carefully, she crept up the walk, unable to imagine what could be making those pathetic little noises. You can imagine her supreme shock when she hesitantly unwrapped a corner of the blanket to see a small child, shivering slightly in the chilly, damp air of the night. "Goddess bless!" She whispered, "Who on Earth would leave a baby out in this? It feels like it could snow, for the love of Gaia!" In the faint light from a distant streetlight, she saw that the child was clutching a letter in his sleep. She also noticed a nasty cut on the baby's forehead. Immediately concerned, she picked up the child, blankets and all, and hurried closer to one of the street lights. The cut had obviously been wiped clean, but she doubted that it had really been _cleaned_. She wondered what had happened to the child for it to have such a wound, and if it might not have other injuries, hidden by clothes and blankets. She wrapped the toddler tightly in the blankets, tucking the letter into her pocket in the process, and hurried to her hotel. Nodding a greeting to the night clerk, she slipped up the stairs to her room.

Once in her room, Aurilia unwrapped the toddler very carefully. She didn't know if it was injured any place other than the forehead, and she didn't want to aggravate any hidden injuries. She noticed while removing the child from the nest of blankets that the diaper the poor thing was wearing had been soiled. She sighed. She needed some supplies, and she should also call the police. She rang the desk clerk, though, and explained that she needed a few items immediately. The clerk informed her of a store in London that was open twenty-four hours which would be able to address her needs, and offered to call a cab for her. She accepted, and the clerk stated that he would ring her room when the taxi arrived.

For the time being, Aurilia searched through her bags – though she had started her travels with but a single backpack, she now had several suitcases and bags, most filled with various souvenirs and trinkets. She located a clean t-shirt and used the scissors from her mending kit to cut it into a suitable substitution for a diaper. Turning back to the sleeping child, she carefully undressed it, and found that 'it' was actually a boy. She also found no further evidence of any injuries. Using a damp cloth from the bathroom, she cleaned the boy and dressed him in the makeshift diaper. She wrinkled her nose at the three blankets in which he had been bundled. They were filthy. She shrugged and re-wrapped the boy in a soft wool throw that she'd purchased in a small village market in Spain. Just as she was finishing, the phone in her room rang. It was the clerk, informing her that the taxi had arrived. She grabbed her purse and the boy and went down to the lobby. She handed the clerk a ten-pound note with her thanks and stepped out to the taxi.

The cabbie was unusually silent on the drive to the store. In Aurilia's experience, taxi drivers were usually a chatty bunch. _He must just be the exception that proves the rule._ Another ten-pound note bought her a half-hour in the store while the cabbie waited. An acne-spotted stock boy earned a couple of quid for helping her locate some antibacterial cream, bandages, hydrogen peroxide, diapers (and all the peripherals of a diaper-wearing baby, including bag and wipes), some clothes for the child, and a blue plush teddy-bear. Aurilia had no idea if the boy was old enough for solid food, so she delayed getting any until he woke up. Thanks to the stock boy, the entire excursion into the store took a mere twenty minutes. After arriving back at her hotel, with a proper diaper on the boy and his wound cleaned and dressed, she tucked him into her bed and was in the process of changing into some clean clothes herself, when she located the note she'd found with the child. She had completely forgotten about it in her concern over the boy.

She broke the wax seal and unfolded the thick parchment, setting aside a couple of smaller documents that had fallen out. Decoding handwriting was not her strong suit, and it took her some time to wade through the spiky, stylized script. What she read, though, had her heart aching in sympathy for the boy.

_Dear Petunia,_

_I fear that I must be the one to inform you of your sister's untimely passing. Lily and James Potter were killed late in the evening of October 31. It is with a heavy heart that I must ask you to take care of your nephew – Merlin knows, we would all rather his parents were still with us to do so, but that is not the case. Take him into your heart and home, Mrs. Dursley, I fear he will need your love and support in the future. Lord Voldemort was the cause of the death of your sister and her husband, and though he seems to have disappeared, I am certain he will resurface and come for the boy._

_I realize you have your own son – around Harry's age, if I recall correctly – and I further realize that this is not what you would have wished for your family, but I cannot stress the importance of Harry needing your protection at this critical time in all our lives._

_For your convenience, I have also sent along his birth certificate and his immunization records._

_With deepest sympathy,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Now, in another world, one where Petunia Dursley had opened her front door to locate a baby Harry Potter on her front stoop, she had immediately written back to Dumbledore, insisting that she couldn't possibly take her nephew in, and had received a detailed account in return concerning one Dark Lord and the two-way blood protections that came into play with Lily Potter's selfless sacrifice. In this world, however, Aurilia stared at the letter for a full hour, unable to even think. When she finally absorbed all the information in the letter, she turned to the other two pieces of parchment that accompanied the letter. The birth certificate, though different in format from her own, was obviously an official document – it was certified with an embossed, golden seal. From it, she learned that little Harry's full name was Harold James Potter, and that he had obviously inherited the middle name from his father. It also revealed that he was fifteen months old. The immunization record may as well have been written in Greek, though. She'd never had cause to see one before, and as such, was unable to decipher the many abbreviations it contained.

She tucked the letter and both documents into her purse. The police would, no doubt, want to see all of it. She spent the remainder of the night deep in thought. Though not yet noticeable to anyone, actions had now been set into motion that would change the world forevermore.

At eight o'clock on the dot, little Harry began to stir. Aurilia hurried to the boy's side. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes with a chubby fist. Aurilia was shocked at his eyes. They were just like hers. _Not completely impossible. I'm sure a lot of people have green eyes, and my ancestors _are_ from Scotland…_ The boy peered at her, "Mama?"

Aurilia shook her head, "No, Harry. I'm Aurilia. I'm a friend."

"Really-ah?" The boy tried his best with the unfamiliar name.

"Close enough," she smiled. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded, unconsciously tightening his grip on the blue plush bear. "Cerill?"

It took a moment for Aurilia to realize he wanted cereal. "Sure, little luz. Anything you want." Aurilia picked him up and checked his diaper. It didn't need changed just yet, but she gathered the diaper bag and the spare set of clothes she'd purchased for him. Throwing her purse over her shoulder, she picked up the boy and headed back towards the front desk.

The clerk from the night before had obviously been relieved of his shift, and the day clerk was there. "Good morning, Miss Westlake. I trust you slept well?" the middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair asked.

Aurilia nodded, "Sure did. Your bed has got to be one of the more comfortable ones I've slept on in a long time."

The clerk grinned at the praise, "Why thank you, miss." She noticed Harry. "And who is this little cutie?"

"This is Harry, I'm watching him for a while."

Harry blinked solemnly at the older woman. "Hungwy," was all he said.

The woman laughed. "How old is he, may I ask?"

"Fifteen months. You wouldn't happen to know of a decent place to grab some breakfast, would you?" Aurilia repositioned Harry on her hip.

The clerk smiled wistfully, "I remember my littles being that young… And there's a nice diner just down the street, miss. Can't miss it."

Aurilia smiled, "Thanks."

"Not a problem," the clerk waived her hand in a dismissing gesture. "Anytime."

Aurilia hurried out the door and down the street. It wasn't raining, though it looked as it might at any moment. True to the clerk's word, she found the café without any problems, and just in time, too. As the door shut behind her, the skies opened up and rain poured down. Harry had his cereal, the majority of which seemed to have been smeared over his clothes, his hair, and his face. But, when she asked, he confirmed he was no longer hungry. After paying, she carried him into the bathroom and cleaned him up the best she could, then stopped by the cashier. Five pounds got him to call a cab for her, and twenty minutes later, both she and Harry were on their way to the nearest police station.

Upon reaching their destination, Aurilia was starting to feel a touch anxious. She wasn't sure how situations like this were handled. Nevertheless, she swallowed her nervousness and strode purposefully into the large brick building. After explaining her situation with the officer at the front desk, she was shortly escorted to a cluttered office, where she proceeded to describe how she located Harry. The detective was a kindly gentleman, likely nearing retirement, in Aurilia's opinion, and took copious notes. He made photocopies of the letter, birth certificate, and the immunization record Aurilia had found with Harry. All while Aurilia and the officer were talking, Harry was playing with his stuffed bear. When the interview concluded, the officer stood and showed Aurilia to the door. "Excuse me, sir, but what about Harry?" Aurilia asked.

The detective smiled, "Do you mind looking after him until we can sort this mess out? If it's any trouble, we can have someone from Social Services here in about an hour, maybe less if they've someone in the area."

Aurilia looked at Harry and allowed a small smile to form. In the short time she'd been with the boy, she knew she didn't want to be separated from him. He was a charming child. "No, I don't mind," she returned her gaze to the grandfatherly investigator. "I don't know what your Social Services is like, but I've heard a lot of horror stories about the US version. I don't think I could chance that, in any case."

The detective nodded, "I've heard similar stories, I'm sure. And, in any case, I've your number at the hotel. This shouldn't take long to check out. We'll be in touch."

The following week passed in a blur for Aurilia. By the end of that week, Harry possessed nearly fifteen outfits, a cunning little snowsuit, some coloring books and crayons, six plush toys, and his very own miniature umbrella. During that week, Harry had also asked where his parents were. It was the single most heart-wrenching discussion in which Aurilia had ever been made to take part. "They're with Gaia, honey."

"Who Guy-ah?"

"She's… The Mother of everything, Harry. She's a goddess."

"Why mama and daddy wif her?"

Aurilia ran a hand through her hair. This wasn't going at all the way she'd hoped. "They're dead, honey. When people die, they return to Gaia's side."

"When I see dem? Miss mama and daddy."

Aurilia swallowed back tears, "Oh, little luz, not for a very, very long time. They aren't here anymore. They're in heaven."

"Want mama and daddy!" Harry, for the first time in the days he'd been with Aurilia, began to cry.

All Aurilia could do was gather the boy into her arms and hold him close until his tears had run their course, and he was deeply asleep. _Just how do you explain death to someone so young?_

The call from the detective came when she and Harry were watching a children's program on the television several days later. Despite his much smaller stature, he managed to beat Aurilia to the phone. "'Lo?" Aurilia chuckled and shook her head at him. "Fer you, Rilya." He held out the receiver.

"Thank you, Harry. Why don't you finish watching that cartoon while I talk, all right?" He nodded and crawled back across the bed to where his blue bear sat. "Hello?" Aurilia said into the phone.

"Good afternoon, Miss Westlake. This is Inspector York."

"Hi, sir. I assume you've figured everything out?"

"Yes, miss, I have."

"And?"

"Unfortunately, we were unable to locate any information on anyone by the name of 'Dumbledore,' nor were we able to locate information on the 'James Potter' mentioned in the letter. However, we did locate a woman by the name of Petunia Dursley who refused any knowledge of anyone by the name of 'Potter,' 'Dumbledore,' 'Harry,' or 'Lily.' I don't know how little Harry ended up on her doorstep, but she was quite adamant about not even having a sister, let alone a nephew. It looks like the little one will end up going to an orphanage…"

Aurilia's throat closed up at the suggestion. She didn't want that to happen! That was partially why she'd agreed to take care of Harry until the detective had finished his work. With a single sentence, she cemented the path her life had begun to take when a woman crossed the center line after too many holiday eggnogs and killed Professor Westlake. "No need, detective. How would I go about adopting him?"

So it came to pass that three months later, a judge signed paperwork finalizing the adoption of Harold James Potter to one Aurilia Leanne Westlake.

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**A/N2:** And that's chapter one. I hope everyone liked it and will continue to read. I know, more-or-less, where I'm going with most of the story arc for this fic, but if there's something in particular you want to see, let me know, and if it fits in, I might include it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Oooh! Two reviews already! Thanks!

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**Chapter Two: Moving Home**

Aurilia sighed as the plane landed. She was back home… almost. It had taken the two years since adopting Harry to sell her parents' old house in Ames, and to find a suitable home for the two of them in Iowa. She couldn't bear living in the house where she had so many memories of her father and mother, let alone the place where her mother had killed herself. With the money that her parents had left her upon their deaths, after the life-insurance policies and all her father's investments were taken into consideration, it was unlikely that either she or Harry would ever want for anything. She had finally decided on a small acreage in southern Iowa, paying the full asking price without even blinking. It was a hundred and forty-three acres of hilly, somewhat forested land, bordered by a private wildlife reserve on one side, farmland on another, a small river on the third, and un-farmable wild forest on the fourth. A portion of the property – only about three acres or so – was a veritable tangle of miscellaneous farm buildings. The paperwork concerning the land also told her that she owned thirteen city lots – not that the town it was a part of could be considered anything but a tiny little village. The population was right around eighty, and there were but thirty houses in total, though the realtor that sold her the land had said that the town of Marysville had once been a prosperous mining town. The mine had been for coal, and suffered a cave-in in 1923, killing several miners. The mine had never re-opened, and when a major flood washed away the sawmill in 1954, the town slowly started dying off.

The pictures she'd seen of the area reminded her strongly of the forested foothills of the mountains of Scotland, but more importantly, it was _Iowa_. Her home. She'd spent nearly forty thousand dollars in having a house built on the land. The realtor had mentioned how, of the two houses already there, neither had indoor plumbing, and the one didn't even have electricity! So, Aurilia had contacted a contractor in the area and had a four-bedroom house built. She'd also made sure to have the seven wells on the property tested, and discovered that two were completely unusable, one had caved in, and three were fit only for animal use. The last one, though, apparently was tapped directly into a sweet spring, the water naturally filtered through the native layers of sandstone, limestone, and coal.

Shaking her head from her musings, she gently woke Harry. "Little luz, the plane's landed."

Harry blinked his eyes open. "We're dere?" he sleepily asked.

Aurilia shook her head, "Not just yet, luz, but we have to get off the plane and find a car to go the rest of the way."

Harry yawned and clutched his bear, the same blue one that Aurilia had purchased that first night. "'Kay. 'Fore we get a car, can we eat? I hungry."

"Sure, Harry. No problem. We have to get off the plane, though, otherwise, they just might ship us off to Alaska or the South Pole!"

Harry giggled and allowed Aurilia to assist him in undoing his seat-belt and getting their carry-ons. Aurilia had shipped all but their carry-on luggage ahead to the nearest post office to their new home. Aurilia shook her head in bemusement at the fact that they would be living – technically – in Marysville, but since the town was so small, would have a Lovilla phone number and a Hamilton mailing address.

Harry zipped Mr. Blue, the plush bear Aurilia had purchased that first night, into the front pocket of his miniature backpack and Aurilia helped him into the straps, then tugged her own backpack on over her purse straps – a little trick a woman in Berlin had shown her years before, to ward off purse-snatchers. Harry took Aurilia's hand and preceded her down the narrow isle between the seats. He'd gotten to meet the pilot, and was given a little pin of wings that he still wore on his backpack strap.

It took about half an hour to find a car-rental place where Aurilia could rent a car that could be returned to a corresponding agency in Knoxville – another town near where she and Harry would be living, though significantly larger than any of the others mentioned previously. She would be purchasing her own car in Knoxville, before finishing the last leg of their journey to their new home.

Once they had a car squared away, Aurilia and Harry left the airport. "So, kiddo, where do you want to eat?" Aurilia asked while navigating the heavy Des Moines traffic; momentarily marveling at the fact that she was on the _proper_ side of the road for a change.

Harry shrugged, "Dunno. What here?"

Aurilia grinned, "I know you haven't had a really _good_ pizza yet. Why don't we find some?"

Harry brightened. He loved pizza, and if his Mum said he'd not had really _good_ pizza yet, he believed her. "Pizza!" Just then, Harry noticed something odd. "Mum?"

"Whacha need, honey?"

"Why you on the wrong side?"

"Wrong side of what, Harry?"

"It's backwards!" He pointed to the steering wheel.

Aurilia laughed. "No, it's not. This is the right way for the US. We do things differently here." Harry seemed to accept that, and fell silent.

An hour later, they were leaving Pizza Hut. Harry had to agree, it was likely the best pizza he had ever had. Probably the best in the world. With a full belly, he contentedly fell asleep in the drowsy heat of the late May sunlight before Aurilia had even driven a quarter of a mile. He woke up again when the car pulled to a halt at the Ford dealership in Knoxville. "Harry?"

"Mum?"

"Come on, luz. It's time to buy our own car. You don't think I would do something that important without your help, do you?"

Harry grinned, showing off a little dimple in his right cheek, and bounced out of the car. "Can we get a blue one?"

"If they have any," Aurilia retrieved her pack from the trunk. Harry was still wearing his.

"Cute kid. Yours?" A voice startled her.

She jumped and whirled around, and saw one of the salesmen standing a few feet behind her. "Sorry, you scared me. Yeah, he's mine."

The salesman smiled, "Didn't mean to frighten you. How old is he?"

"He'll be four at the end of July."

"Ah… To be four again," the salesman said, though he couldn't be much older than Aurilia was. "Playing in the mud, learning how to fish…" He shook his head, "Anyway, how can I help you today?"

Aurilia handed him the keys to the rental, "I need to return this, and buy one of my own."

The salesman checked the tag on the keys, "Des Moines Airport… No problem. We'll take care of this in a minute or two. What sort of car you looking for?"

Aurilia opened her mouth to answer, but Harry beat her to it, "A blue one!"

The salesman leaned down and grinned at Harry, "I'm sure we can find a blue one. What's your name, sport?"

"Harry. What yours?"

"Mike."

Harry held out his hand – the wrong one – and in the tones of one who has been rehearsing the phrase far too many times said, "Pleased to meet you, Mike."

Mike chuckled and shook Harry's hand. "Same here, sport." He straightened and met Aurilia's amused gaze.

"I swear he watches too much telly." Aurilia sighed.

Mike's brow furrowed, "I could have sworn you were local, but -"

Aurilia cut him off, "I've lived in the UK for the better part of four years now, and it was inevitable that some of their terminology was bound to rub off. I'm Aurilia, by the way. Aurilia Westlake."

Mike shook her hand as well, "Mike Thompson. And back to why you're here. Just what sort of vehicle were you looking for?"

Aurilia shook her head, "I'm not too sure… I recently purchased an acreage, and have had a few vague thoughts about horses, but other than that…"

"And you'll no doubt need something for Harry here," he said, ruffling Harry's messy black hair.

Harry scowled and ducked out from under the offending hand. "You're mussing my hair!"

"Sorry, champ," Mike responded, but looked anything but apologetic. He turned back to Aurilia. "So… a pickup?"

Aurilia thought for a moment. "That would probably be my second choice. Do you have anything else similar?"

Mike shrugged, "What about an extended-cab? Seats four comfortably, and has all the benefits of being a truck."

Aurilia sighed, "I just don't want to get a truck until I have a real need for one. I'm not comfortable driving something that big just yet. I've spent the last several years either not driving at all, or tooling about on a Vespa, or in one of those Euro-boxes that are hardly bigger than your average motorcycle."

Mike laughed, "Okay, I can see where the apprehension is coming from. You want something safe, obviously, that isn't too large, but is big enough to haul groceries and other whatnot, right?"

Aurilia brightened and nodded. "Right."

"And blue!" Harry said, reminding the adults that he was still there.

"Of course, sport, we'll make sure it's blue, just for you." Mike motioned for Aurilia and Harry to follow him through the lot. Two hours later, Aurilia pulled their new blue Mustang convertible into their driveway. Though she had intended on getting something more practical, she just couldn't pass up the opportunity to get a convertible; she'd always wanted one.

"We're here, we're here, we're here!" Harry shouted as he undid the seat belt and struggled with the heavy door.

Aurilia laughed at his antics and got out to help him with the door. "Yes, yes. We're here." He raced up the flagstone walkway and stood, nearly bouncing, by the door. She retrieved the key to the front door from the false brick the contractor had placed at the foot of the porch stairs. She unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal the entrance hall of her new house. Aurilia nodded in satisfaction; the contractors had done a marvelous job so far. The hall was done in a rich golden oak – wall panels, floor, and staircase to the second story. She noticed a note taped to the banister. She picked it up.

_Miss Westlake- _

_As the house was finished ahead of schedule, we didn't turn the power on, nor did we turn on the propane. You will need to do this yourself. To turn the power on, you need to flip the main circuit breaker in the fuse-box, which is located in the utility room off of the kitchen. To turn on the propane for the stove, furnace, and water heater, you will first need to turn the knob on the propane tank fully to the left. I trust you know how to light the stove pilot lights, and the pilot light for the furnace will light automatically when you turn the power on. The pilot for the water heater is the small red button on its front, likewise, you will need the power on first in order to light it. The phone should be up and running, so no worries there. As you requested, there are two cots set up in the living room and the items you asked for are stored in the cupboard over the stove._

_-Jonas Peterson_

Aurilia sighed, but knew that there was little that could be done about it. The house had been completed three months earlier. She understood their caution in turning any of the utilities on. She yawned. Though it was only four in the afternoon, she was about ready for bed. _Damn jet-lag._ "What's it, Mum?"

Aurilia turned her attention back to Harry. "Nothing much, just a note from the people who built the house for us. It says we have to turn a few things on ourselves. Do you want to help?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Sure!"

"Come on, then." She lead him to the utility room and picked him up. "See that switch there?" she pointed to the right one. Harry nodded. "I need you to flick it for me. It will turn the electricity on for us." Harry did so, struggling with the stiff circuit breaker. Stepping back into the kitchen, they were rewarded with a hum coming from the open refrigerator. Setting Harry back on the floor, she told him, "Hurry and close the doors on the fridge, honey. We want to make sure it's nice and cold for when we go grocery-shopping tomorrow." He ran across the floor and slammed the doors of the side-by-side shut. "Thanks, kiddo."

"What next?" Harry asked.

"We have to turn the gas on so we can have hot water for baths, then we have to make sure all the pilot lights for the gas are lit."

"Huh?"

Aurilia chuckled, "Come on, I'll show you."

They went outside to where the propane tank sat a little ways from the house. Aurilia lifted Harry to sit on the tank. "All the gas we use is stored in here," she banged the metal tank. "Right now, it's trapped inside." She flipped the domed cover off the top of the tank. "To let it out, we have to turn this knob. You want to give it a try?"

Harry nodded and struggled with the knob for several minutes, "Sorry, Mum. Too tight."

"That's okay, honey, let me try." It was indeed very tight. By the time she got it to loosen enough for Harry to finish turning it the rest of the way, she had an imprint of the knob on her hand. She shook her hand and rubbed the palm to restore circulation. "Come on, let's go light the pilots."

His recent plane trip very much in mind, Harry slid off the tank and wondered why they would be lighting up their pilot from the flight, and just _how _they would be doing so. Going back into the house, they stopped in the utility room where the furnace and water heater were. "See that red button on the front of the water heater?" Harry nodded. "Go ahead and press it." He did so, and there was a faint whooshing hiss, followed by some pinging. Aurilia knew it was evidence that the pilot was lit. A green light on the face of the furnace also told her all was well.

"Now what?"

Aurilia grinned at Harry. "Now all we need to do is light the stove, then we can get some sleep."

Harry frowned, "But I'm not tired!"

Aurilia shook her head and led Harry to the kitchen. She lifted Harry up to sit on the counter and then removed the cast-iron burners and cover from the stove. She was relieved to note that Mr. Jonas had left a box of fireplace matches on the counter. She picked up the box and withdrew a long match. She handed it to Harry, "You want to do the honors?" She believed in teaching responsibility, rather than fear, of things like fire, scissors, and knives. It was how she had been raised, and she turned out all right in the end, so why would raising Harry be any different?

Harry nodded eagerly and took the match from his mum. She showed him the patch of sandpaper glued to the side of the box and how to hold the match to keep the wood from breaking. It took him two tries to get it lit. Aurilia then pointed out the two pilot lights for the stove top and Harry grinned an ear-splitting grin when the pilots lit with a little pop of gas. He went to blow out the match, but Aurilia took it from him. "Not just yet, Harry. I have to light the one for the oven, first. He carefully handed her the burning match and watched as his mum pulled out the broiler-tray – though he didn't know that was what it was called – and after a moment there was another faint popping sound. Aurilia blew the match out and got to her feet. She tossed the match into the sink and Harry crawled the few feet along the counter to it and turned the water on. This hadn't been the first time his mum had let him use a match, and he knew that he had to douse it to keep Mr. Blue safe.

Aurilia scooped Harry up and exclaimed, "Perfecto, my little luz! Come on, I think it's time to go to bed. No arguing," she added in a stern tone. "We've had a very long day, and tomorrow's going to be even longer. We have to retrieve our things from the post office, go grocery shopping, and arrange for furniture delivery."

Harry pouted but knew better than to argue with his mum. The duo headed into the living room and Aurilia helped Harry into the pair of pajamas he had stuffed into his backpack. Despite Harry's earlier protestations of not being tired, he was asleep shortly after his head hit the pillow. Once he was safely asleep, Aurilia sighed and got to her feet. She had one last task to attend to before she could bed down for the night.

Now, it should be mentioned that though Aurilia thought of herself as a witch, for the purposes of this tale, she is a muggle. She would not be able to find her way into Diagon Alley unassisted, would not be able to get a wand to do more than lay there and look pretty, and would not be able to see Hogwarts without help. However, there is a lot that sheer simple _belief_ can do, even for those not traditionally magically inclined. One of the many, many things her parents had taught her to do was to set a circle of protection around her home.

Though she had been teaching Harry in the ways of Wicca, her boy would be of little help in what she had to do. What Harry was learning was the Wiccan equivalent of the Christians' Sunday School – mainly the legends of the Goddess and her Horned Lover, when the Sabbats and Esbats were and the more child-friendly of the traditions for those holidays. Not even Aurilia was mad enough to teach a child, barely out of toddler-hood, the _real_ reason for the Beltane bonfires or the symbolism behind a maypole dance. It wasn't that sex and sexuality were anathema in her household, quite the opposite, really, but she did try to keep it age-appropriate. She had explained the difference between boys and girls when she was teaching Harry what his body parts were named – she didn't _show_ him the difference, Goddess bless! She had located a cunning series of books aimed at small children that helped to explain how boys and girls were different and where babies came from.

Aurilia shook herself from her musings and reached into her own backpack and pulled out a little wooden box. The box contained a plastic bag full of sea-salt and a silver goblet she had located at a festival in Wales. She carried the box to the kitchen, setting it on the counter while she opened the cupboard above the stove. Another wooden box, much older and larger than her own, was sitting there. _Thank the gods, Uncle Jack came through._ 'Uncle' Jack was not really Aurilia's uncle, he had been her mother and father's best friend. Through an uncountable number of international phone calls, he had gone through all of her parents' belongings, packing away those things that Aurilia said she wanted to keep and putting them in storage for her. The box that she withdrew from the cupboard was one of those things. It contained the ritual tools of the Craft that had been handed down her father's family for generations; an athame – or ritual dagger, a boline – a knife with a white handle and a slightly curved blade, a small cast-iron cauldron, an ivory statue of the Mother Goddess – what archaeologists referred to as a 'Venus figurine,' a charcoal-powered incense burner, several candles in various hues, a bundle of packets of herbs that Aurilia remembered helping her mother, an associate professor of botany, set aside the fall before her father died, a thick handwritten tome, and a heavily-embroidered altar cloth that had been made for her mother's father during the second World War by a fellow pagan in Germany.

The woman that had created the altar-cloth had been very old, or so her grandfather had once told her, and blind, though you wouldn't know it from the embroidery. The base material was black silk – her grandfather had been one of the first nighttime paratroopers – and it had soft green vines twining sinuously around the edges. The vines had darker green leaves and pale purple flowers. Her grandfather had also told her that the vine had been used as a symbol of the Goddess for millennia. Every part of the vine had a use; the stem made strong cloth and even stronger cord, yet was as soft to the skin as modern nylon, the flowers could be brewed into a mild sedative much like chamomile, the leaves had the opposite effect and held a rather high amount of caffeine, and the roots were used to see the spirit world – they were hallucinogenic. It was the perfect example of the wisdom of the Gods, covering everything from the mundane world to the medicinal to the magical. Unfortunately, its name had been lost to time, and the plant itself had either died off naturally or been harvested to extinction. Aurilia was pretty sure it was the former, as Wicca and the other Earth-centric religions tended to warn against over-harvesting of anything, be they plants, animals, or other natural resources like coal or native pigments like red ochre.

Within the ring of vines, done in bright yellow and gold, the Wheel of the Year was stitched. It looked rather like a wagon wheel with eight spokes. Along the 'rim' of the wheel, in traditional Theban script, were the names of the Sabbats and Esbats. In the wedge-shaped areas directly under the names of the holidays, pictures of the plants and portrayals of the customs of the holidays were embroidered. For example, the wedge below Yule depicted holly and mistletoe, a merrily burning Yule log, and a startling image of the Crone. The wedge under Beltane showed the precursor to the modern May-basket – a wreath of spring flowers, a maypole dance, and shadowy figures dancing around a bonfire. Close inspection revealed the dancing figures to be skyclad, or nude.

Where the hub on a wagon wheel would be, the altar cloth was embroidered with the interwoven pentacle – a five-pointed star whose lines appear to be woven together from a single strand. The pentacle was done in silver. Aurilia didn't know if it was real silver making up the thread, but she did know that it was the only thread on the entire cloth that was metallic.

Aurilia sadly laid the cloth to one side. It would do no good for her tonight. Instead, she leafed through the packets of herbs, setting aside those she would need. When she was done, she filled her goblet from the tap, lit a white pillar candle, and stripped. In Aurilia's experience, the heart of a home was the kitchen. It was where all her best memories were – long discussions about whatever came to mind with her father, playing cards with her mother, learning how to bake cookies and how to clean a fish. Therefore, she laid her preliminary protections on her and Harry's home in the kitchen.

It took her several hours to finish her task. During that time, she used the water from the well on her own land and the sea-salt to bless the property. A bit of sage burned in the censer all the while. Sage had protective properties, and Aurilia wanted all the protection possible for her Harry; the letter she had found with him had not been forgotten. She strung small bunches of angelica on thread, tying one to each of the house's window and door frames. The salt-blessed-water and the sage were also walked through each room of the house, further purifying and laying protection for her home.

The last thing she did was creep into the living room and carefully cut a lock of hair from her boy. When she returned to the kitchen, she did the same to her own hair and burned them in the censer. According to her beliefs, this would help whatever spirits on her land, as well as the land itself, recognize that she and Harry were the rightful residents. When she had all of her tools available – particularly her paternal great-grandfather's sword – she would be setting the boundary of her land with similar protections. However, that would have to wait until the rest of her and Harry's belongings were retrieved.

Glancing at her watch, and realizing that she needed to reset it to Central time, she noticed that it was nearing midnight. She did some quick calculating. Aurilia had been awake nearly thirty hours. Gratefully, she sank onto her cot after donning her own pajamas, and fell asleep. She knew that Harry would wake her when he got up. He always did.

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**A/N2:** And that's chapter two. Again, I hope everyone liked it and will continue to read. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Four reviews - thanks!

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**Chapter Three: Amy Simpson**

Throughout the month of June, the Westlake house slowly filled as packages and furniture arrived. The entrance hall, with its hardwood floors and dark paneling soon boasted a thick red-and-blue rug and an ornate wooden bench. The rug was from Germany, the bench a family heirloom. Two tapestries – reproductions from an English castle – hung on the walls, one across from the bench and one on the wall above the stairs. A miniature orange tree sat in the corner near the front door, in front of the full-length windows there.

The first doorway on the right when approaching from the front door was the living room, which had a native sandstone fireplace. In fact, the stone of which it was formed had been pulled from an exposed cliff near the back of her property. Its tones of yellow, orange, and red were repeated through the room. The carpet was a rich golden color, a shade between true yellow and orange. The walls were a brighter shade of the same color. The furniture was a dark red, not quite the color of rust, but close. The upright piano that had been in her mother's family for five generations was situated in the corner farthest from the door. The walls to either side of the fireplace were bookshelves done in golden oak. In truth, the room looked more like a formal library than a living room – it even had the heavy wooden desk that had once resided in her father's study now sitting under a window – but Aurilia didn't watch much television and entertained guests even more rarely. It worked for her and Harry, and that was all that mattered.

The first doorway on the left side of the entrance hall was the only door in the house that was always locked. It's only window was a stained-glass picture of the sun over a mountain lake on its east wall. It had taken six months to track down a manufacturer that would do a custom stained-glass job, and when the sun shone through it, or if there was light in the room at night, the window was absolutely stunning. The room itself was more of the paneling that lined the hall, and the floor was the same hardwood planks. This room also had a fireplace of native sandstone, though on a smaller scale than that of the living room, in the center of the south wall. When viewed before Aurilia moved the furniture and decorations into it, one would have assumed it would be either a study or, given that it shared a wall with the kitchen, a dining room. However, an observant person would find nary a single electric outlet in the entire room. The chandelier that hung from a chain on the ceiling was a simple collection of glass and cast-iron, designed to hold candles, not light-bulbs. After Aurilia was finished furnishing the room, the west wall had a large decorative fountain, similar to the kinds seen in oriental restaurants that circulated the water for koi-ponds. The north wall held numerous shelves and cabinets, as well as a long, low table. The altar-cloth from the wooden box covered it, and the other items from that box, in addition to her sea-salt – now the only occupant of its little box – and her silver goblet. The altar also had a large piece of clear quartz, the stone was twelve inches high and nearly that across its base. Her mother had found the stone as a girl, and had always insisted that it had brought her luck and strengthened her magick. As you may have guessed, this room was Aurilia's magick work-room.

The second door on the right of the hall was to the area beneath the stairs. Unlike a similar door in a house a half a world away, wherein in another life, Harry had spent his childhood, this door led down another flight of stairs to the basement. Just about the only things in the basement were emptied boxes. The house's furnace was on the main floor, as well as the water heater, fusebox, and laundry room. In fact, the only reason the house even _had_ a basement was because springtime always brought two or three tornadoes to any given area in Iowa, particularly the western and southern sections. When Aurilia had time, she planned to make sure that the corner of the basement where the cots were now stored also had some more blankets, flashlights and batteries, and some emergency food. She thought to get some army-surplus MRE's – that's Meals Ready to Eat to the unwashed masses. They stored longer than normal canned goods, and had been designed by military scientists to have all the required vitamins and minerals needed for daily life.

Moving back upstairs, the second door on the left led to the kitchen. The kitchen was done in a cheery shade of yellow and its predominating theme was apples. The towels and hot-mitts boasted decorations of apples; the tablecloth covering the breakfast table as well as the placemats had the same decoration. Even the salt and pepper shakers were little ceramic apples. Though Aurilia didn't know it, she couldn't have selected a better scheme for her kitchen. According to psychology studies on color, the colors of red, green, and yellow stimulated the appetite. The kitchen was unique of all the others that her contractor had built in the last six years in that it had an overabundance of counter space. She had plenty of cupboards, a large stove with a gas-powered grill as part of its surface, and the oven was large enough to bake a thirty-pound turkey. She had two additional ovens, stacked one on top of the other, but they were electric and would be used only if she found herself needing to keep large amounts of food warm. In fact, the lower of the two ovens she had no intention of using for food. It was going to be used to speed the drying time of several herbs she intended to plant in the garden, though the garden would have to wait until the following year. Behind the back door, an old-fashioned stick-broom stood, and on the wall near the breakfast table, an ornate woodcut calendar depicted similar images to the Wheel of the Year embroidery on the altar-cloth in her magick room.

The kitchen had its own door to the outside – the back door – and it also held the door to the utility room wherein the furnace and water heater were kept, as well as the washer and dryer. It also had an archway to the dining room – the last door on the right from the hallway. The dining room held a massive table that had to be assembled in the room, as none of the doors would have admitted it pre-assembled; it would seat twelve comfortably, eighteen if they were friendly. The floor and walls were the same woods represented in her magick room and the hall, and the curtains across the window seat were a heavy, dark red velveteen. A collage of black-and-white photographs of her travels graced the wall shared with the kitchen.

As to the ground floor of the house, the only thing that remains to be said is that there was a half-bath tucked into the exact center of the floor, one door at the top of the stairs to the basement, the other almost hidden in a corner of the living room.

The second floor of the house boasted four bedrooms and two full baths. The master bedroom was the biggest, of course, and was along the northern edge of the house. Aurilia's room was done in shades of blue and green, with her bathroom to match. Despite the heavy use of wooden furniture on the first floor, her bedroom furniture was all brushed steel and glass. Stepping into her room left one with the feeling that they'd been plunged into the ocean.

Harry's room was next door to her own, and was done in bright primary colors. As she'd let Harry select what he wanted for the room, his bed was a loft and beneath it he had stored his toy-chest. He also had a desk and his own set of bookshelves, a chest of drawers, and a large penny bank that was a working gumball machine. Aurilia kept it stocked with jawbreakers, though. She once managed to get bubblegum in her hair as a small child and had never really liked the concept of gum after that. The decorations varied, some were dinosaurs, some were cars and airplanes. All-in-all, it was a room any almost-four-year-old boy would be proud of.

Of the remaining two bedrooms, one was done in neutral shades of brown and the other was empty. Aurilia had a vague notion of setting the last up as a sewing room – she'd always enjoyed making her own clothes – but for the time being, it was empty. The bathroom that the other three bedrooms shared was likewise neutral white.

It was with a relieved sigh that Aurilia unpacked the last box – her father's collection of stemware, beer steins, and other drink-specific glasses – and put everything away. Harry took the box to the basement for her. When he returned, Aurilia grinned at him. "That's the last of them."

Harry smiled back. "Good. Now can we get the horses you promised?"

Aurilia laughed, "Not just yet, little luz. We'll have to build a stable first, and I wanted to wait until next year for that." Harry pouted a little at the pronouncement before heading up to his room to play with his toys.

Throughout the rest of that year, Aurilia and Harry spent the majority of their time learning the quirks of their property. Aurilia taught Harry how to read and write, and began showing him how to do simple arithmetic. She also began scouting out what wild herbs grew in the area, and showing Harry what they looked like. When picking them, she taught him about conservation – "Never pick all of a particular plant, Harry, that way there's more for next year." – and what the plants were used for. She also made sure he knew what poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac looked like.

Harry's favorite part was when she would take him fishing, be it along the river that bordered their property, or to Lake Red Rock over on the Des Moines River. During one particularly sunny afternoon in late August, Aurilia taught Harry how to swim. At first, Harry was more than a little afraid of the water – a recent thunderstorm had made the water murky – but by the end of the afternoon, he could float unassisted and was rapidly learning how to tread water and dog-paddle. The remainder of the week was spent, to Harry's delight, at the campground on the lake. By the end of the week, he was swimming better than Aurilia and could hold his breath longer.

Their first winter in their new house was long and lonely. Storm followed storm until the snow was piled three to six feet deep. It was too deep to go sledding, but Aurilia and Harry tried anyway. When it felt as though their faces had frozen into place, they went back inside to some much-needed hot coco and cookies. That year, Santa brought Harry a model airplane that really flew. Granted, it was made of a heavy plastic and 'flew' at the end of a wire lead, but Aurilia felt he was still a little too young for a real model. Perhaps the next Yule, or even the one after that.

Gathering up discarded wrapping paper, Aurilia paused for a moment to watch Harry coloring in his new coloring book – it was a dinosaur fact book. _Somehow, I don't think that a stegosaurus' tail was day-glow pink with blue spines. But then again, how would I know?_ Harry was stretched out on his stomach with his new box of 96 Crayolas spread in an arc around him. He finished up with the periwinkle blue he was using to fill in the spines along the herbivore's back and set it down. Stretching out to reach the russet brown crayon that was just out of his reach, Aurilia blinked. _Did that crayon just roll to his had?_ She shook her head and dismissed it from her mind, certain that she'd been seeing things.

Spring brought a minor flood to the river that bordered the Westlake property, and though the water covered part of the driveway, keeping them from leaving for almost a full three days, the house was far enough up on the hill not to be in any danger. During those three days, Harry once again brought up the subject of horses, and Aurilia verified that, yes, they would be getting some that summer.

In the chaos that was the summer of 1985, a stable was built on the Westlake lands, as well as a small, two-bedroom cottage. Aurilia knew that if she was going to get horses, she would need help with them, and with Iowa weather being what it was, she would rather her hired hands stay on the premises.

She had been so busy overseeing the building of the stable – she had some _precise_ requirements – she had almost forgotten to get Harry registered for kindergarten. It was actually an unexpected visitor from the town of Marysville that reminded her.

"Damnit, Peterson! No! The windmill is supposed to power _all_ the water-needs for the stable! I don't want to have to rely on buckets if the electricity were to go out for any reason."

The contractor merely shook his head in defeat and took the blueprints with him back down to the construction site. The addition of a small black sedan to the dozen or so vehicles that belonged to the construction crew went unnoticed in the general clamor of power-tools, voices, and the roar of a bulldozer deepening a natural depression in the side of the hill – the future location of a farm-pond.

Amy Simpson was, by profession, a lawyer in Knoxville, specializing in estate planning, though she was known to take a court case or two if asked. She was also the mayor of Marysville, though that particular job could more easily be described as 'official complainer to the county.' Just about the only things she had to do was approve the bus-routes for the local school, and make sure the county offices didn't forget to send a road-grader out twice a week to even the gravel; Marysville was the only town in Marion County that didn't have a paved access road.

Amy had watched as the dozens of farm-buildings on the old Walters farm had been torn down the previous year, and as the large brown house with copper roof and green shutters had been built. A quick visit with the contractor, ostensibly to verify their work-permits, had revealed that a woman by the name of Aurilia Westlake had purchased the old Walters place and had ordered the construction. A little research allowed the rather nosy woman to find out that Aurilia Westlake was the only child of Jon and Leanne Westlake – former professors at ISU. It also told her that Aurilia's parents were both deceased and that she was wealthy enough to do just about whatever she wanted for the rest of her life. It hadn't told her, however, that Aurilia had a son. At least, she assumed that the boy was hers and not one of the workers' – who would bring their kid to a construction site?

Aurilia was sitting on the front porch, watching the construction going on just down the hill from her house, the boy playing with a bucket of Legos nearby. Both of them were so intent on their respective tasks that neither of them noticed Amy's arrival. Amy rapped her knuckles on the banister of the stairs up the porch. "Hello?"

The boy glanced up, then went back to his Legos, opting to ignore the blonde woman in the white blouse and navy skirt. Aurilia turned and smiled politely, "Hello. I'm Aurilia Westlake, may I help you?"

Amy returned the smile. "Amy Simpson," she offered her hand. "I'm the mayor of Marysville and the unofficial welcoming committee."

"Oh," Aurilia replied. "Come on up. It's getting hot… would you like something to drink? I've got some iced tea and some lemonade in the fridge."

"That would be nice." Amy said.

After a warning to the boy – Harry, as it turned out – to stick close to the house, Amy followed Aurilia through the entrance hall to the kitchen. She took the offered seat at the breakfast table while Aurilia poured two glasses of lemonade. The two engaged in small-talk, feeling each other out for possible friendship. After a few minutes, the conversation turned to Harry and Aurilia explained how she'd come to be Harry's mom. "Wow. That sounds like something off of a soap opera," was Amy's reply. "You said he's going to be five in a couple of days, right?"

Aurilia nodded, "Yeah."

"Will he be starting school this fall, then? Or are you going to wait until next year?"

Aurilia blinked in surprise. "School? Shit. I'd forgotten all about that!"

Amy chuckled, "Been busy?"

"That's the understatement of the year. Have you any idea the sheer number of _things_ a house needs? Not to mention all the parcels I'd shipped over from London… It took a month just to unpack! And I'm _still_ finding things that need to be bought."

"I'd believe it," Amy said, sipping her drink.

"I haven't had the chance to drop by the school for this area, yet. What can you tell me about it?"

Amy shrugged, "Oh, I suppose it's a typical rural school. It serves for Pershing, Attica, Bussey, Hamilton, Tracy, and Marysville, as well as all the country kids in between. It averages around four hundred students every year, and that's _all_ grades, kindergarten right through high school. The school itself is about three miles outside of Bussey; one building for K through sixth, and another across the parking lot for seventh through twelfth. It's got cornfields on all sides, so even the high schoolers are required to stay on campus all day. Most of the teachers are a decent sort, there's only one or two who really ought not to be teaching… but I don't control who hires them. Hell, I'm not even on the PTA. I could be, but managing my own business, as well as the town – such that it is – is more than enough for me."

Aurilia snickered, "So, you've your own kids?"

Amy nodded, "Yeah. My daughter, Sarah, is fourteen and my son, Josh, just graduated last spring. He's going to be attending the University of Northern Illinois – his dad's alma matter – this fall. Sarah's a handful and a half, though. She's got it in her head that if it can't be drawn, sculpted, painted, or played, it isn't worth bothering with."

"Pardon?"

"She's an 'artist,' or so she thinks, though even I have to admit that she's damn good on the piano. Hell, she'd have to be. She asked for lessons when she was three years old and took them right up until this year. That was when the instructor told her that she'd either have to continue learning on her own or find another teacher, because he'd taught her all he knew. But besides art and music, she's been barely-passing all of her other classes. She outright failed math last year and has spent every other day in summer school in Knoxville to make up for it."

Aurilia refilled her glass and offered the pitcher to Amy. "Maybe I could help. I was going to ISU to be a teacher, and when I withdrew I had all the course requirements for a major in Secondary Education. All I really needed were the general requirements in order to graduate. My minor was Spanish, but I wasn't bad at math or history, or really any subject. I didn't like science and I found history boring, but I wasn't _bad_ at them…"

Amy smiled and met Aurilia's eyes, "Maybe so. In any case, I'll leave you with our phone number and tell Sarah to give you a call if she needs help."

"Sure." Aurilia grabbed a pad of paper that was held to the front of the fridge by a magnetic clip and the pen that was always laying across the top of the phone. She scribbled down her own number and handed it to Amy. Their conversation turned to more general topics.

Mr. Peterson – the contractor – noticed a blonde woman arrive and follow Aurilia inside the house and breathed a sigh of relief. He'd not known what he was getting himself into when he agreed to build another project for Ms. Westlake. For the last one, she'd not been in the country, and so he had made weekly progress reports to her over the phone. He found himself longing for those times once again. The woman was a sheer terror to work for, insisting on only the best materials and angles had to be just _so_, and may God have mercy on the soul of anyone that failed to completely hammer home a nail! Despite that, however, he was completely unprepared for Harry.

When his mom had disappeared into the house with the stranger-lady, Harry'd gathered his Legos up and put them back into the bright blue plastic bucket. With his mom out of the way, he had some questions he wanted to ask Mr. Peterson. He sat the bucket on the white wrought-iron table on the porch and wandered down to where the man was overseeing the last of the dirt work on the pond. He tugged Mr. Peterson's shirt sleeve.

"What? Oh, kid, you should head back up to the house, before your mom gets mad." The absolute last thing Jonas needed was for Aurilia to come running out, upset that he'd allowed her precious little boy so near dangerous machinery.

Harry shook his head, he knew his mom wouldn't be mad at him. She rarely ever got mad. Her yelling at the contractor was more of exasperation than anything else. "What's that called?" he pointed at the bulldozer.

"What? Oh. A bulldozer."

"Why's it called that?"

"Dunno, just is. Sometimes they're called cats. Short for caterpillar. Depends on if they've got treads or wheels."

"What're 'treads?'"

"You know what a tank looks like, right?" Harry nodded, eyes wide. "And the weird belt they've got running around their wheels, right?" Harry nodded again. "Those are treads."

"Oh." Harry nodded. "Why are they called that?"

Jonas shrugged, "Hell if I know, kid."

Harry decided to ask his mom at the earliest opportunity. "What's the 'dozer doing?"

"Your mom ordered a pond. It's clearing out the dirt and moving it to that pile there, where another machine will tamp it down to form a dam."

"Oh." This was really fun. He was learning a lot. "And what's 'tamp?'"

"It means the dirt will be packed down really tight, so the water won't escape." Jonas flagged the foreman to signal for lunch. The foreman nodded and used an air-horn – the kind powered by compressed air and favored by sports fanatics – to do so. Harry jumped in surprise at the loud blast. "What was that?"

"An air-horn. I just told the foreman to signal for the workers to take their lunch."

"Oh. How? You didn't say anything."

"Since most construction sites are really noisy, the foreman and I have a set of gestures we use to communicate simple things."

"Makes sense." Harry agreed. "What's a 'foreman?'"

"He's the guy who determines what workers will be working where." Jonas began walking towards his truck and his own lunch.

"Oh. Then what do you do?"

"I make sure all the supplies like nails and wood are delivered on time, and the order in which a big project like this is done. Your mom wanted it done before the first of September, so I have to make sure that the stable, the fences, the cottage, and the pond are all completed by that time."

"Oh. Where's the water come from?" he asked.

The contractor blinked at the sudden divergence from the previous question thread. "Huh?"

"The water for the pond. Where's it come from?"

Jonas ran a hand through his hair. He almost wished he was dealing with Aurilia. At least she listened when he said that something couldn't be done, or that he needed to do something. She didn't barrage him with a seemingly never-ending series of questions; he wasn't sure the boy was _ever_ going to leave him alone. "We will be pumping it up from the river."

"With fish, too?" Harry was curious. He knew that a water pump was how they got water in the house, but his mom had also told him not to go drinking the water from any of the other wells on the property because anything in the water could travel up the pump, too. Of course, Aurilia had meant things like bacteria and heavy metals. However, to a four-year-old, bacteria were less real than fairy tales, and heavy metals invariably brought to mind pictures of barbells.

Jonas shrugged again. "I don't know. Probably. Even if some didn't get pulled in by the pump, it would be a good idea to keep a few perch and maybe a bass or two in the pond after it's filled. The fish will help keep the water clean."

Harry's forehead wrinkled. Just how could a slimy fish keep water clean? "How?"

Jonas swore mentally, creatively and colorfully. "They eat the algae that grow in still water."

"What's 'algae?'"

Jonas wanted very, very much to scream, loud and long. His own kids had never been as full of questions as the green-eyed, black-haired little imp before him. Instead of screaming, he tried to answer the question. "It's a water plant. You know how a puddle will get slimy if it's left in the sun?"

"No."

Jonas sighed, "Well… we're sure to get more rain this summer. When we do, take a look at a couple of puddles. Right after it rains, they're pretty clear, or just have mud in them. If they're big enough to stick around for a couple of days after the rain clears, especially if it's warm and sunny, the puddle will start to grow this greenish-brown slime. That's algae."

Harry filed the information away to be researched at a later date. He moved on to his next question, "How come some of the workers take their shirts off when they're working?"

"Because it's hot, and they're cooler without their shirts."

Harry had met all the workers, and most of them were happy enough to take a short break from their tasks to explain to the four-year-old what they were doing. "If it's cooler, then how come Julia and Robin don't, too?" Julia was one of the two electricians on the crew, and Robin – also female – was the operator for the bulldozer.

"Because they're girls… women. It's not right for women to run about without a shirt," _Though the world would be more interesting to watch if they did,_ he continued silently, knowing Harry wouldn't understand the reference.

"Why?"

Jonas nearly threw his lunchbox down in irritation. "Damnit, kid! Enough with the questions already! Ask your mom!" With that, Jonas took refuge in his truck and turned the radio on, really loud, and opened up his lunchbox.

Harry sighed. Most of the workers _liked_ answering his questions. There were a couple, though, that were like Mr. Peterson. Two, three questions were all right, but more than that and they got flustered. Harry decided it was time to head up to the house; he was ready for lunch, too.

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**A/N2:** And that's chapter three. Again, I hope everyone liked it and will continue to read. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** _Nine_ reviews - wow!

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**Chapter Four: Jim and Dave Brewer**

The last week of August found the stable completed, the cottage ready for occupants, and the pond filled. Aurilia took Mr. Peterson's advice to stock the pond and had a selection of perch and bass brought in by the Department of Fish and Game. When everything was done, the homestead looked like something right out of a history book, needing only some horses and assorted other farm animals to complete the picture – if one ignored the bright blue Mustang in the drive, that was.

Ever since she was a little girl, Aurilia had been fascinated by horses. She probably knew more about them than anyone else in the world, and the only reason she hadn't majored in Horse Sciences and Technology while in college was because she didn't get along with the primary instructor of those courses at ISU. She probably could have overlooked that, were it not for the fact that the man was an unmitigated bastard who believed his word was law and that a mere student was scum. In any case, Aurilia _knew_ horses, and was planning to start her own show-line. She knew she wanted to take the intelligence of a mustang and see if she could get a prettier horse with a more predictable coloration by breeding an Arabian into the line. She'd already ordered her Arabian, and was planning to spend a week in Colorado when the mustang auction went through. She didn't want to wait for it to get to Iowa, by that time, the really good mares would already have been bought.

Her Arabian stallion was due for delivery the second week of September, and she'd still not hired any helpers for the ranch. Her ad in the paper had yielded only tentative responses – most folks didn't want to live on-site. Aurilia was beginning to get desperate. The last Sunday of August found her and Harry in Knoxville, buying his school supplies. When they'd finished up, Harry asked if they could eat in town.

"Sure luz, wherever you want." Aurilia tucked the last of the plastic bags into the trunk. "Did you want Chinese?" Harry shook his head. "Burgers?"

"No…"

"Pizza?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head again. "Not today."

"Well… Where did you want to eat?"

"I can't remember what it's called… that place with all the old tools hanging on the walls… they've got that music-box that lets you pick the songs if you put a quarter in…"

Aurilia wrinkled her forehead in concentration. Then she remembered the place she and Harry had met up with Jonas Peterson when she first approached him about the stable project. "Big Mike's? You want to eat there?"

Harry grinned and nodded, "Yeah! I want more of those fried cauliflower things."

Aurilia shrugged, Big Mike's was fine with her. _May it not be said that my Harry's a picky eater…_ As they pulled into the gravel parking lot of the most famous bar and grill in Knoxville, Aurilia turned to Harry, "Remind me later that we still need to stop by the grocery store. We're out of eggs and almost out of bread."

"Okay, Mum." Harry opened the heavy car door with a grunt of effort and ran to the entrance of Big Mike's.

About twenty or so minutes later, Harry had spent three dollars in the jukebox and drank most of a large glass of soda. A frizzy-haired waitress arrived with their orders; a burger and onion rings for Aurilia, and an order of breaded cauliflower and mini-tacos for Harry. By the time they were done, Harry had managed to get ranch dressing down both arms and taco sauce in his hair. The waitress was hard-pressed to keep from laughing when she brought them their check. Aurilia told Harry to run to the bathroom and get cleaned up. The waitress smiled after him. "Cute kid."

"Thanks."

"Kinda surprising he liked the cauliflower nuggets. Most kids won't touch veggies with a ten-foot pole."

Aurilia giggled, "I know. Harry's not that picky of an eater, though. Just about the only things he doesn't like are hot dogs, bologna, and ketchup."

The waitress blinked in surprise. "Hell, that's all my kids _will_ eat. That and mac'n'cheese."

Aurilia shrugged a little and wrote a check for their meal. Just as Harry emerged from the bathroom, the door to the bar opened and two tallish men wearing cowboy hats and dusty jeans wandered in. "Damnit, Jim, I told ya back in Omaha that we ain't gonna find no work here! It's long past plantin' season, and harvest won't be for another month or two, at _least_. Told ya we shoulda stuck in Omaha 'til spring, but _no_. Can't be listenin' ta _me_," the shorter of the two knocked his hat back and revealed he had dark brown hair.

"Shut your trap, Dave. So I was wrong, so what? Arguin' 'bout it ain't gonna change it none, now is it?" The taller of the two likewise removed his hat and revealed sandy blonde hair. Aside from their hair and height difference, though, it was obvious that the two were related. They had the same general build, lean and a little lanky, and the same broad foreheads and square jaws. From where Aurilia was sitting, she could see that the taller of the two had probably broken his nose at some point, but other than that, his nose was the same as the brunette's.

Harry tugged on his mom's sleeve, "Can I play the racing game?" he asked, pointing to the video game in the corner.

Aurilia nodded, "Sure thing, luz. There're quarters in my purse. I'm going to be chatting with those two guys if you need me, okay?"

Harry grinned, "Sure," and retrieved his mom's change-purse from her bag.

Now, Harry was unusually bright for a five-year-old, partially due to his biology, but more due to the fact that Aurilia treated him more like a small adult than a young child. His mom had already taught him how to read and write – though his handwriting was still rather childish – as well as some simple math. She'd also been teaching him the things her parents had taught her, in regards to their faith as well as her mother's fascination with herbal medicine. There was something else about Harry, though, and Aurilia had no idea _what_ it could possibly be. She had noticed that things that Harry wanted to happen usually did, and there was that time she swore she had seen a crayon fly into his hand from several feet away, but later chalked it up to her imagination. Harry was also surprisingly accurate at reading people. He hadn't told his mom, simply because he was unaware that he was doing something that she couldn't, but he could almost always tell what people were feeling. It didn't work all the time, and it wasn't as though Harry was _feeling_ what others were, it was more like there was an outside force that was telling him that so-and-so was feeling ill, and that thus-and-such was angry at someone. He didn't know where the knowledge came from, only that, when it surfaced, it was right. So, with only half his attention on the video game, he used the other half of his attention to listen to his mom's conversation.

"Can I buy either of you two something to drink?" Aurilia asked the newcomers. A quick glance out the window had revealed a beat-up old pickup truck with a camper box over the bed and Wyoming license plates.

The two men turned to face the bespectacled redhead sitting at the corner table. "Afternoon, ma'am," the one with the brown hair said. "I'm Dave Brewer, and this here," he indicated the taller blonde, "is my kid brother, Jim."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Aurilia Westlake. Have a seat," she pushed out one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table with her foot.

Jim and Dave exchanged a look the likes of which only family members and long-time lovers are capable of sharing; one that seemed to hold an entire conversation not heard by anyone not a part of their loop. Jim shrugged and took the offered seat. Dave took the seat between Aurilia and Jim – avoiding the side of the table spattered with ranch dressing and taco sauce. Aurilia flagged the waitress to bring a refill for her soda and both of the men ordered bottles of cheep beer. Clearing her throat, Aurilia said, "I couldn't help but overhear you were looking for work?"

Jim nodded, "'S right, ma'am."

"Please call me Aurilia. What sort of work do you do?"

Dave took a drink of his beer, "We were runnin' sheep out in Montana, but the owner sold out to one of them corporate jobs. They brought in all their own folk to run things, so Jim an' me got shafted. Was too late in the season to be hired on at another ranch, so's we decided to try our luck elsewhere. Were hired on to do some construction for the summer in Rock Springs – that's in Wyomin' – and when that ended, we headed across Nebraska. Ended up in Omaha – "

Jim interrupted, "Where I said, 'Why not see iffen any o' these farmers need a spot of help?' an' we ended up here."

Aurilia nodded thoughtfully. "I presume, since you mentioned ranch work, that you're familiar with horses?"

Dave snorted, and Jim nodded, "Yes ma'am. I ran rodeo circuit for three years, 'fore I ran outta money for entrance fees, otherwise I'd still be out there on circuit. Did better with ropin' than I did ridin'."

"I believe I asked you to call me Aurilia," she teased good naturedly. "I only ask because I'm starting a horse-ranch and have been having a bit of difficulty finding people willing to live on-site to work for me."

Dave and Jim shared another meaningful look. "How many horses we talkin' 'bout, ma – Aurilia?" Jim asked.

"Four or five to start. None of them will be broke, though. The mares will be from the mustang auction this fall and the stallion is arriving week-after-next. Arabian stud, not even green-broke. Got a discount on him that way."

Dave spoke up, "Suppose we took your offer, what sort of payment we lookin' at an' what would our jobs be, exactly?"

"General care and training of the horses, minor repair work around the house and stable when needed. Five hundred a week – that's two-fifty to each of you – with room and board paid by me. You'd be staying in a two-bedroom cottage not far from the stable."

Yet another look passed between the brothers. Aurilia stood up, "I'll let the two of you talk it over for a bit, I need to check on my son." As a minor test of honesty, she left her purse laying on the table, her wallet in sight. To the brothers' credit, neither of them so much as glanced at it.

Harry was grinning when his mom arrived by his side at the video game. "Hi, Mum."

"Hi, yourself. How're you doing?"

"Not good. Wrecked three times. Had to put in another quarter."

"That's all right. What do you think of those two guys I was talking to?" Aurilia knew little kids had a habit of being able to tell nice people from the ones only pretending to be nice – dogs could, too.

Harry purposefully crashed his cartoon racecar into an animated tree. He handed his mom her change-purse and took a moment to actually look at the two men. That external knowledge was working in high-gear. He knew, just by looking, that the dark-haired one… Dave… didn't want to believe the offer. He found it too coincidental that just when they need a job, one practically fell into their laps. The blonde, on the other hand, wasn't as skeptical. He was willing to take what was offered. Harry also knew that the blonde was going to win the argument. "They seem okay," was all he told his mom, though. He was still under the impression that she could tell all that he could about the two men.

"Do you think they'll work out all right with our horses?" Aurilia asked.

Harry squinted at the men, and the brunette met his gaze. Suddenly, he wasn't getting the knowledge alone anymore, but mental pictures, too. He could see the blonde man riding a horse and roping down a calf in front of hundreds of people. He could also see himself, as the brunette man, working with horses, repairing fences, and doing other general chores. It was highly disorienting, and Harry had never done anything like that before. The man with the brown hair, Dave, smiled at Harry. Harry returned the smile with a grin of his own. "Yeah, Mum, I think so."

When Aurilia and Harry returned to the table, Dave stood up and offered his hand. "You've got yourself a deal, ma'am. We do reserve the right to walk away come spring, though, iffen we find it's not to our liking."

Aurilia smiled and shook the proffered hand. "Hell, Mr. Brewer, you're welcome to walk away at any time, provided you give ample notice."

Jim noticed Harry. "And who is this?" he asked, kneeling down to Harry's height.

"Harry," Harry said.

"Well, put 'er there, kiddo." Jim offered Harry his hand, which Harry shook enthusiastically.

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**A/N2:** And that's chapter four – since this one is a little on the short side, I'll also post chapter five soon – probably before I go to bed. 

I'm finding that I like reviews. I wasn't sure if I would bother reading them or not, simply because I wrote this just to get it out of my head, but I like hearing what everyone has to say.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** I've added an extended summary to my bio page, if anyone is interested in how far I've gotten. Thanks to the lovely reviewer who suggested as much.

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**Chapter Five: Kindergarten and A.J.**

September 3, 1985 brought Harry's first day of school at Twin Cedars Elementary. It was a Tuesday, as the second had been Labor Day and thus nothing had been open. Harry was both excited and highly curious about starting school. He didn't know what he was supposed to be learning though, he already knew how to cut-and-paste, color, read, write, and do math. What else was there?

The school bus had been a nerve-wracking adventure, though the older lady who drove it made sure all the youngest kids sat near the front of the bus so she could keep an eye on them. Harry wondered at that. He thought she would have been more worried about the big kids at the back of the bus. He had sworn he had seen one of them drawing on the seat with a pen… Harry shrugged it off. He knew grown-ups could be a bit weird at times. When the bus finally arrived at the school, it stopped in front of the high school first, and the driver got up to address all the students. "Take a good look at where you're sittin'," she said, "because you'll be sittin' there for the rest of the year. I don't have many rules, but the ones I do, I expect you to follow completely, else I'll make sure your folks have to bring you to school for the rest of your time here." Harry was starting to like the woman less and less. She cleared her throat and continued. "The first rule I have is Absolutely No Eating on the Bus." Harry could hear the capitals in her words. "Anyone I find eating will be kept on 'til last stop, and required to help me clean this beast. The second rule is much like the first. No Gum on the Bus. Breaking this rule will provide the same punishment as the first." She leaned down and pulled something made of canvas straps and shiny buckles from a box behind her seat. "This is a restraining vest; they're used to keep the mentally handicapped in their seats when the bus isn't already equipped with seatbelts. Anyone I see standin' when the bus is in motion will wear this for the rest of the year."

There were some snickers among the older students. The driver scowled at them. "Do keep in mind, you older lot, that these go in sizes all the way up to five-extra-large adult. I'm sure I can find one to fit you. Refusal to follow the rules, or refusal to do any punishment for failure to follow the rules will result in your expulsion from the bus route." One of the ninth-graders on the bus, whose father was on the school board, started to speak up, but was cut off before he could complete so much as a single syllable. "These punishments and rules have been okayed by the school board, Thomas. _Unanimously_. So keep that in mind before you open your mouth." The woman's expression melted from stern to suddenly friendly. "Now that the rules are out of the way, I'll let you know that I don't much care if you listen to music, so long as it isn't rap – I particularly like country and classic rock, and yes, that's a hint as I don't care if you wear headphones or not. I also don't care if you have the windows open or closed, though if it's cold or rainin', you might want to check with the others that sit near you if they mind an open window. I know this ride is on the longish side, over mostly dirt roads, so I don't care if you have somethin' to drink with you, but it has to be in a sealed container, like a pop bottle. You also have to clean up any spills, there will be a roll of paper towels up by me for just that purpose. Other than that, if you follow the rules, I think we'll get along just fine. Oh, one last thing. If you know you're gonna not need a ride on a particular day, I'd appreciate knowin' in advance. Particularly those of you that live out in the middle of nowhere and are the only stop on that branch of the route. You wouldn't go on vacation without tellin' your teachers, I expect the same courtesy." With that, the woman sat down and opened the door. The older kids, those in the seventh grade and higher, got off, and then the bus pulled across the gravel parking lot to the elementary school. Harry waited until last to get off the bus.

_Now where do I go?_ He hadn't been to the school before – only the day his mom had registered him, and that had been done in the high school. One of the older students had reached the door to the elementary and suddenly looked panicked and ran back to the bus. "Suzan! Suzan! I left my bag!" The girl had mousy brown hair pulled into two tails over her ears, secured with red ribbon that matched her large plastic glasses. She was missing one of her front teeth, and the other one was overly large for her face.

The bus driver chuckled and had already retrieved the pink backpack from the girl's seat. She met the girl at the door to the bus, "Here ya go, A.J. Be more careful in the future, eh?"

The girl took her bag with a shouted, "Thanks!" and turned to hurry back into the school.

"Excuse me?" Harry called after her.

The girl stopped short. "Whacha want?"

"I'm starting kindergarten, but no one told me where to go…"

The girl looked over the boy with the messy hair and green eyes. She smiled, showing off the gap in her teeth. "That's okay, no one ever told me 'til I got here, neither. They make it real easy for kinnergardners to find their class, though. C'm here, I'll show you." A.J. grabbed Harry's sleeve and pulled him through the double-doors into the school.

They were met with a bemused smirk from the school secretary. "Playing tour-guide, A.J.?"

A.J. shrugged, "He's new, Miss Jamison. He didn't know how to find his class."

"Just make sure you're to class before the bell rings, A.J. I don't want to count you tardy on the first day."

A.J. grinned, "I won't be late, promise." With that she pulled Harry to the intersection of a long hall and the shorter hall they'd come down. "Okay… What was your name?"

"Harry Westlake." Harry would have offered her his hand to shake, but she still had a hold of his sleeve.

"Well, Harry, I'm A.J. Penbroke. I'm starting second grade today, and that teacher back there, Miss Jamison, is my teacher for this year." She let go of Harry's sleeve. "Okay, down that way," she pointed to the left, "is the gym, but you also go there for lunchtime. There are these picnic tables they pull down out of the walls, it's really kinda neat. The art and music rooms are also that way. The school nurse is that way," she pointed ahead of them. "Those doors at the end of the hall go to the playground for the first through sixth graders. Kinnergardners have their own playground just outside their class." She motioned for Harry to follow her and headed down the longest of the hallways. "All the grades' classrooms are down this hall. If you get lost," she pointed to some large footprints painted onto the floor in bright yellows and blues, "these footprints will be here for a week or two and will lead you right to your class."

When she stopped halfway down the hall, Harry was momentarily confused. "Are we there? The footprints still go that way…"

"No," she shook her head. "It's just that this is important to know." She pointed to the two doors on either side of a water fountain, "Those are the bathrooms. The girls' is on the left, and the boys' is on the right. Someone stole the signs last year and they haven't been replaced yet, so you'll have to remember on your own. You do know right from left, don't you?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Of _course_ I do!"

"Just makin' sure. Sometimes, _I_ forget and have to be reminded… Anyway," she flipped her tails over her shoulders, "That's the library." She pointed out the door directly across from the bathrooms. "C'mon on, there's not much time left before the bells ring," she grabbed Harry's sleeve once more and pulled him to the very end of the hall. "Here ya go." She opened the door. Harry had just enough time to see the sign on it read 'Kindergarten Classroom, 100' before he was pulled into the room.

A short woman with long black hair pulled into a braid down her back turned at the sound of the door opening. "Good morning, A.J. I trust you had a good summer?"

"Sure did, this is Harry. He's starting kinnergarden today." A.J. pushed Harry a little closer to the woman.

"Is he now?" The woman smiled at them. Harry could tell he was going to like her, despite the fact that his othersense wasn't working as it normally did. He still wasn't sure about A.J., though. The teacher knelt in front of them, "Good morning, Harry. I'm Miss Garrett."

Harry returned his teacher's smile and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Harry Westlake." His teacher shook his hand and told him to set his bag on the table in the middle of the room and go outside, pointing out a door at the back of the class that led to a smaller version of the playground Harry had glimpsed from the bus window, though this one had significantly less wood and proportionately more plastic. Just before he left the room, he turned to thank A.J. for her help, but the girl with the pigtails had disappeared.

With the exception of Shari and Keri Smith – a pair of twin girls identical in every possible way – and Zach Ryerson and Desiree LaCaz – neighbors since they were born – none of the kids knew each other. Harry, since his mom wasn't really a social person, was a little intimidated by the other kids. He'd never really been around kids his own age before, and wasn't sure what was expected of him. The other kids didn't really know why, but they weren't all that comfortable around Harry, either. Harry spent the morning playtime before the school bells rang sitting on the bench where the teacher usually sat.

When the bell finally rang, the teacher emerged from the building with a bullhorn. Through it, she told all the kids to line up, single-file, in front of her. After a few minutes, and a demonstration from the teacher, the kids were led into the room. Miss Garrett told them to find their backpacks and line up by the door. She then went down a list, having each of the students come forward to hang their bags on a peg along the opposite wall and she showed them where to sit. Instead of the desks used by the older students, the kindergarten room had several round tables which seated five students each. Harry ended up sitting with Zach Ryerson, Leila Ford, Jenny Miller, and Brian Lewiston. Brian was short, even for a kindergartener, with dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. Zach was his polar opposite, tall enough to be mistaken for someone three grades higher than him, with pale, freckled skin, white-blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. Both of the girls were somewhere between the two extremes, with brown hair and eyes.

As the day progressed, Harry soon found himself bored beyond all previous knowledge of the word. He already knew what they were supposed to be learning. _The other kids must be really stupid if they don't know the alphabet already._ By the end of the day, the only thing he had learned was that Zach liked the color green, the girls both had the same Barbies, and that Brian's mom was the doctor for the Bussey Clinic.

The remainder of the week continued in much the same vein. It became bad enough that the other kids stopped ignoring him and began to tease him. Desiree had an older brother in the sixth grade, and when she told him about Harry, she learned that kids like Harry were known as 'know-it-alls.' And so that was how the other kids in the class began to address him. The teacher tried to put a stop to it, but that just made it worse when she wasn't around, and added 'teacher's pet' to the rapidly-growing list of insults. When Harry tried to tell the teacher about what was happening when she wasn't there to see it, the other kids added 'tattletale.' Harry didn't know why the other kids didn't like him, and decided that he had been right on the first day; they really _were_ stupid. It didn't help matters much when, on the first Friday of class, when everyone was supposed to be drawing pictures of their houses, Harry found himself needing the green crayon lying next to Zach's elbow all the way across the table. When it rolled over to his hand, the only one who had noticed had been the teacher. The strange display of something far beyond her experience and understanding unnerved her. It became easier to ignore the friction developing between the other children and Harry.

Every class has examples of the archetypes of society; the class clowns represent the comedians of the world, the bullies represent the criminal element, with the majority of the kids falling somewhere between the two extremes. Unfortunately for Harry, his place in the class – determined through no fault of his own – was that of the 'weakling,' the butt of everyone's jokes, and he was powerless to stop it. Aurilia's open admittance of her faith didn't help at all. Small towns love nothing more than to gossip, and Aurilia became more than just a seven-days' wonder to the small towns serviced by the school. Children being what they are, picked up on the general level of animosity towards the Westlake woman and followed their parents' examples; snubbing Harry when not outright ridiculing him.

There were a few exceptions to the rule, though. Dave and Jim Brewer didn't care a bit that their employer wasn't a Christian. Jim had explained their view one day, and Harry had overheard it. "Hellfire, Aurilia! Why would me an' Dave give a good goddamn _what_ you believe, so long as we keep gettin' paid? Our ma weren't no Christian, neither, if that makes any diff'rence to you. She was half-Cherokee, raised on a reservation out in Oklahoma." Amy Simpson, as a self-styled agnostic, also didn't care much what Aurilia believed. Aurilia wasn't forcing her to change how she viewed the universe, so why _would_ she care? The rest of the Simpson family followed Amy's example, though Rick, her husband and the local sheriff, was never fully comfortable alone in Aurilia's presence. He had been raised as a Southern Baptist, and had never quite gotten over the conditioning of his childhood. The only others that didn't care one whit were the Penbrokes, of whom A.J. was the youngest of three girls. In fact, as the class butt of her own grade, she and Harry quickly became best friends. She even talked the bus driver into letting them sit together, making sure to point out that the driver – a cousin of her father – was less likely to have to watch out for them if they could look out for each other.

Aurilia wasn't too aware of the goings-on and gossip centered on her and Harry; she had been too busy working with the horses, trying to get them used to so much as a lead-rope. She knew something was up though, when she received a note via Harry, that urged her to attend the parent-teacher conferences that would be held the last week of October.

Leaving Harry in the capable hands of Sarah Simpson, Amy's daughter, for the evening, Aurilia pulled to a stop outside the elementary school, wondering what on Earth could possibly warrant her coming in person to a conference; Harry had only been at school for a little under two months! Half-formed ideas of her son being a bully floated through her head, though she really _didn't_ want to think that; in her opinion – formed through no little experience on her part – there was no worse thing than a bully. She waited with ever-decreasing patience for Harry's teacher to call her into the classroom.

"Miss Westlake?" Miss Garrett poked her head into the hall. Aurilia was the only mother of a kindergartener there. She stood and followed the petite teacher into the classroom. She took a seat in the only chair designed for an adult, aside from the one behind the teacher's desk. Miss Garrett took her chair at the desk and shuffled some papers. "I apologize for calling you in, but I thought it would be best to discuss Harry's… actions in class.

"As I am sure you are aware, we normally send children's report cards home with them, but I felt it would be best to give you Harry's in person." Miss Garrett handed Aurilia a piece of folded-over paperboard. Aurilia read it over.

**Student Evaluation for:**  
_Harold James Potter (Westlake, Harry)_

**Grading Scale**  
E – Exemplary  
AA – Above Average  
A – Acceptable  
NW – Needs work  
NS – Not Satisfactory  
P – Poor

**CourseGrade**  
Arithmetic...AA  
Art...AA  
Reading...E  
Writing...E  
Physical Education...A  
Social Skills...P  
Music...E

**Notes:  
**_Though Harry shows extensive skill for his age in the areas of cerebral learning,  
he appears to be developmentally challenged when relating to others his own age.  
Had he the social development matching that of his expertise in the more cerebral areas,  
I would recommend placement testing for him, as kindergarten will be of no use for him.  
Without testing, I would assume he would be ready for first grade without any problems  
understanding the material, however his inability to relate to children his own age keeps  
me from making this recommendation to the school board. His only interactions with  
other children, when not in class, seem to be limited to being the target for the other  
children's hostility. _

_If Harry does not start showing significant improvement in this  
area, not only will I be forced to recommend to the principal that he be moved to the  
special-needs class, but I will also have to bring this situation to the  
attention of Social Services._

By the time Aurilia was finished reading the teacher's comments on the inside of the card, her temper was rising. Her green eyes flashed behind her glasses and she slowly closed the report card before raising her head to stare malevolently at the teacher. She knew she had a temper, and she also knew she should give the teacher a chance to explain. She mentally counted to ten, then again in Spanish just to be safe. A half a world away, if the woman had known Aurilia, Molly Weasley would have understood the reaction.

Under Miss Westlake's cold gaze, Miss Garrett was becoming more and more uncomfortable. She had been a teacher for going on ten years, and in that time, she had had to deal with belligerent parents, parents that abused their kids, parents that neglected their kids, and parents that were never there. Nothing in her experience, however, could compete with Aurilia Westlake's reaction to what she had written on Harry's progress report. She took a shaky breath and began, "As you can see –"

Aurilia cut her off. "Sorry," her tone was beyond cold, more in the Arctic range of vocal warmth, "I _don't_ see. Harry's a smart kid, I know that. What's more, if he's 'the target for the other children's hostility' I fail to see how it is _his fault_." Aurilia fought the urge to throw the report card into the woman's face. "If the other kids are teasing him, it is _your responsibility_ to see it stopped. _You_ are the teacher, the authority figure. If you cannot control your students, it is _not_ the students' fault." Aurilia's voice had continued to lower in temperature until it was hovering in the same range as the dark side of Pluto. "And I _will not_ sit here and allow you to screw with my son's education. You will _not_ be putting my son in any 'special-needs' class just because _you_ are unprepared to deal with the troublemakers in _your_ class, if you even try, I _will_ sue the school, naming _you_ as the primary respondent. I have more than enough money to ensure you're tied up in court for _years._ Can you say the same?" Miss Garrett opened her mouth to respond, but Aurilia answered for her. "Of course not. And _Social Services_? I think _not_. Harry is _well_ cared for at home. He is neither abused, nor neglected. Any investigation on their part would say _precisely_ the same."

Miss Garrett took Aurilia's pause for breath to interject her viewpoint. "However, Miss Westlake, it is commonly known you believe yourself to be," she snorted, "a 'witch.' I took the liberty of looking into the common practices of your faith. I do not think that Social Services would take too kindly to exposing a child to something like _that_. The nudity alone –"

Aurilia interrupted the woman once more. "Ah! Now we come to the heart of the matter, you verdammen Hure!" Sometime during the teacher's words, Aurilia's temper flashed from cold to hot. Ever since her time in Germany, she tended to swear in German; the guttural language somehow making the words more satisfying. "You have some sort of prejudice against my religion, and are taking it out on my son! Do you really think that I would allow my son to take part in _anything_ skyclad? Hündisch Schorf, I'm not _that_ crazy! Just as not every Christian goes to church every Sunday, not every Wiccan practices naked!" Though Aurilia did, indeed, prefer to practice her magicks in the nude, she wasn't about to let the teacher know. Besides, whenever she involved Harry in any of the magicks they did, they wore their clothes. Pajamas, usually. "If I hear so much as a _whisper_ of you taking out _your prejudices_ on _my son_ ever again, I _will_ have you reported to the state school board. The First Amendment _guarantees_ separation of church and state, and last I checked this was _not_ a parochial school!"

Aurilia got to her feet and threw the report card across the desk in a manner reminiscent of tossing a Frisbee. Though she didn't mean to, it hit the teacher on the forehead rather forcefully. She smirked at the teacher. "Unless you have something _of importance_ to pass along, and _not_ more of your attempts at passing along _your_ issues on _my son_, our business here is done." Aurilia turned on her heel and strode out the door. With a supreme effort of will, she kept the door from slamming shut on her way out.

Her house was a mere seven miles from the school, and it surprised no one more so than herself when she completed the entire trip in just under two minutes. Sarah looked up from her homework when the front door slammed shut. Harry was already in bed, and had been since she got there at eight o'clock.

"Call your mother, Sarah," Aurilia said, still seething from the conference with the teacher.

Sarah knew something was up, but she did as Aurilia asked her to. Her mom showed up about ten minutes later. The two of them disappeared into the kitchen, and Sarah decided it was likely a _very_ bad time to ask for help on her English paper. Aurilia had lived up to her promise to help the teenaged girl through the classes she was having difficulty with, and in return, Sarah had composed a piece of music for her, playing it on the piano in the living room. When Harry heard her play, he mentioned how he wished he could do that, so Sarah started showing him how. They worked on the piano for an hour or so every time Sarah came over for help with her schoolwork, which was usually three or four times a week. She shook her head at the whirlwind-flash of her mom hurrying past the living room doorway and went back to puzzling out Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_.

Amy sat at the table and watched Aurilia rummage angrily through the cupboards. She didn't know what had happened to cause this level of anger in her friend, but she pitied the person it was aimed at. She was just about to ask when Aurilia found what she was looking for and poured herself a shot of tequila. "That… bloody… _bitch!_"

Amy had never heard Aurilia curse before, at least, not quite so angrily or forcefully – or in English for that matter – and before their discussion was over, she was surprised at Aurilia's inventiveness in finding ways to express her viewpoint on the ancestry of the kindergarten teacher, which included no few farm animals and at least one puzzling reference to a rubber duck. However, she did agree to be Aurilia's lawyer if things ever progressed to the point where she would be needed. She recommended that Aurilia write a letter to the school board, filing a complaint about the teacher's obviously biased standpoint. Aurilia scoffed and downed another shot of tequila, "What bloody good would that do? All of them probably think the same, if not _worse_. Hell, they probably think I go out nightly to rob graves and sacrifice babies to 'the devil,'" her voice dripped with sarcasm on the last two words, and Amy was sure that had her hands not otherwise been busy holding her shot-glass and the tequila bottle, she would have made quotation gestures.

"Then go to the state. The Board of Education. File the complaint at that level. You _are _right, the First Amendment guarantees the right to pursue your own religion – if some guy wanted to worship Apple Jacks and teach his kids to do so, then he has that right. What you believe is _none_ of the school's business, and they have _no_ right to think it is." The lawyer within Amy turned back to what Aurilia had said was on the report card. "Now, you said that the teacher noted that Harry is… 'developmentally challenged' was how you put it, right?" Aurilia nodded, the alcohol had managed to mute her anger. She put the cap back on the bottle, then filled a glass with water from the tap. "I honestly don't see that. When I look at Harry, I see a bright little kid. If he's stuck in a room of kids that treat him like shit, and that he sees as mentally inferior, then _of course_ he's going to have problems relating to those children. Until you signed him up for school, his only real interactions with people were all with adults, right?" Aurilia nodded again. Amy was doing a wonderful job of making her feel better. "It's also been proven – I don't recall quite which article it was, nor the magazine – that kids raised around adults and that have limited interaction with others around their own ages will mentally mature faster in an effort to better understand the world around them.

"Tell you what," Amy stole a drink from Aurilia's glass. "I'll put in a couple of calls from the office for you tomorrow. One to the school board, one to the Board of Education, and one to Social Services. Let them know I'm acting in your behest to head off any sort of problems before they become real issues."

"Thanks, Amy. You're a lifesaver," Aurilia took her glass back.

"Not a problem. You're helping Sarah graduate with the rest of her class. It's the least I can do."

By the second week of November, Miss Garrett was on probation. Harry didn't know what caused it, but his teacher was decidedly more hostile towards him, often not even bothering to reprimand kids in the class when they teased him. He noticed that the only time she did so was when there was another grown-up in the room. He saw her watching one day out on the playground when the teasing escalated into physical violence. Zach, Brian, and a kid by the name of Troy VanHolzier held him down and began hitting him. Harry saw the teacher smile a little before turning away.

Harry didn't want his mom to know he was still having trouble at school. Running to her would add another epithet to the already long list of taunts. He had no desire to become a 'crybaby' as well. In frustration, one chilly December afternoon, not long after Christmas break began, he approached Dave and Jim. He hadn't interacted much with either of them, what with him being at school all day, but what little time he shared with them he had enjoyed.

So, still sporting the latest bruises from the triad in his class that thought mere words were not enough to express their distaste of Harry, he found himself sitting on the split-rail fence, munching on graham crackers and watching the hired hands try to corner the stallion – whom Harry had named 'Kudzu' – and failing miserably at finding a way to ask the men what he wanted.

"Hai, you ugly bastard! Get over here!" Dave cursed the Arabian's parentage. Jim, who had the halter in one hand and the lead-rope in the other, slipped along the horse's blind side and tried to sneak up on the beast. Somehow knowing what was coming, Kudzu snorted loudly and pranced out of reach. He was now only eight feet or so from where Harry sat on the fence.

Jim started to follow the horse, but Dave hurried over and stopped him. "Don't. The kid's over there. No tellin' what the damn horse'll do if we try to corner 'im now."

Jim nodded, "I know, I know. I wouldn't wanna be the one ta tell 'is ma he got hurt on our watch, neither. You remember Pop's warnings on redheads an' all that."

The low voices of the two hired hands were unheard by Harry. The horse had noticed him sitting on the fence and had filed him into the 'annoying, but too small to be a threat' portion of his brain. However, Kudzu could smell something strange coming from the area of the non-threat on the fence. His brain told him it was edible. He took a cautious step towards Harry. Harry smiled at the horse. "Hey, Kudzu." He broke off half of his graham cracker and held it out on a gloved palm. "C'm here, boy. I won't hurt you. You want this?" Harry stretched his hand out as far as it would go. The horse took another cautious step forward and stretched his neck out as far as it would go. _Definitely edible_, his brain informed him. _But is it warm-oat-mash edible or hay-in-the-dead-of-winter edible?_ The horse stepped much closer; his caution gone while his stomach did his thinking for him.

Jim and Dave were watching in awe. "Are you seein' this?" Dave whispered.

"I think so. What's Harry got he's so interested in?"

"No clue."

Meanwhile, Kudzu nimbly picked up the half a graham cracker and chewed it as thoughtfully as was possible for a horse. If a horse could express astonishment, Kudzu would have. The wonderful little crispy thing was beyond warm-oat-mash edible. The closest Kudzu could come to labeling it was first-spring-clover-after-a-_long_-winter. He stepped even closer to Harry, and butted the boy with his head. He knew there were more of the little crispy things somewhere nearby; he could smell them. Harry giggled and hung onto the fence to keep from being pushed into the snow. He pulled another cracker from his pocket and held it out to the horse. While he was eating that cracker, Harry tugged one of his gloves off to hang from the cord through his coat and began petting Kudzu's long nose.

Not about to lose such an ideal opportunity, Dave and Jim slipped up beside the horse. Harry handed each of them a cracker that they fed to the now-docile horse. With a little maneuvering, Jim slipped the halter over the horse's head and attached the lead-rope. The promise of another cracker got Kudzu to follow him into the stable. When Jim re-emerged, he was grinning. "If that don't just beat all…"

"You're tellin' me," Dave replied.

"You're runnin' in for more oats tomorrow, right?" Dave nodded. "Gonna get a case of graham crackers while you're at it?"

"You betcha."

Harry cleared his throat, figuring this was likely to be the best time to ask the men what he wanted. They turned, surprised to see Harry still there. Harry jumped off the fence and fidgeted with his glove, tugging it back on. "Um… can you two… sort of… I mean… the kids at school…"

"Just breathe, Harry." Dave advised. "I dunno what you're after right now, but you should prob'ly just take a breath an' _then_ ask."

Harry took a deep breath, then said, "Iwannalearntofightcanyouteachme?"

Jim shook his head as though to dislodge water from his ears. "What was that?"

"In English this time, please," Dave grinned.

"I _said_, I wanna learn to fight. Will you teach me?"

Jim and Dave exchanged one of those glances that communicated in lieu of words. "Why?" Jim asked.

"'Cause the kids at school are mean to me."

Another glance between the brothers. A shrug from Dave. "I suppose… However, it'd be best not to mention it to your mom."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Jim answered. "'Cause most womenfolk don't hold too well with fightin' an' I ain't seen a mom yet that liked hearin' that her son was fightin'."

Harry nodded slowly, "I can do that. Not tell, I mean. Will you show me?"

"Sure, kiddo. It'll have to be after we finish with the horses, though," Dave responded.

"I'll help!" Harry knew that if he helped, then the work would be done that much faster. Then they could get to teaching him how to fight back when Brian, Zach, and Troy decided to beat him up again.

* * *

**A/N2:** And that's chapter five. Despite my wonderful beta's help on this chapter, there are still aspects of it I dislike and if I manage to fix those (which is unlikely at this late juncture) I'll repost the chapter. Thanks to all my reviewers, and especially to my beta, Aurilia. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Thanks, everyone, for the reviews. The next part should be out soon.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Pressure Change  
**

With Jim and Dave's tutelage, Harry soon became nearly untouchable to the bullies in his class. His natural speed helped quite a bit, but even when he was cornered, he gave as good as he got. He was doubly careful not to do anything in front of Miss Garrett, though. He knew that if he did, then _he_ would be the one to get into trouble. And so, Harry completed his kindergarten year, bruised, sore, and more than a little perturbed at the world in general, but he did finish.

Over that summer, A.J. became something of a fixture on the Westlake property. She ended up taking riding lessons right alongside Harry, and the first time she rode over from her parents' farm on her bicycle, she spent a good three hours showing Harry how to ride it. Jim and Dave got him his own for his sixth birthday. After Harry had his own bike, he was as often seen at the Penbroke farm as A.J. was at the Westlake ranch.

The summer also saw Harry take a series of placement exams in the cafeteria of the high school – at the insistence of Amy Simpson, who had managed to get photocopies of Harry's progress reports. When they were completed, the school board decreed that Harry would be skipped to second grade in the fall, and would also be taking part in the school's TAG – Talented and Gifted – program. This meant that Harry's reading and writing assignments, as well as his science and math, would be taught by Jeff Wright, who specialized in teaching gifted students. A.J. couldn't be happier. She was also in the TAG program, and even though they would be in different classes for most of the day, for the last two hours every afternoon, they would get to be in the same class.

Harry also learned, quite accidentally one afternoon he was over at A.J.'s, that A.J. actually stood for 'Aurora Jeanette.' A.J. threatened to strangle him if he ever let it get out. Despite his knowledge of fighting, Harry believed she would do it, even if she had to sneak up behind him with a bit of rope.

In the middle of that summer, on July fourth, to be precise, Amy and Rick showed up with Sarah and a trunkful of illegal fireworks they'd brought up from Missouri. Since Rick was the sheriff, no one worried too much about being caught. Jim looked rather smug when the Penbrokes' family van pulled up not long afterwards. Alan and Julia Penbroke brought several cases of soda for the kids, and beer and wine coolers for the adults. A.J. and Harry spent most of the day riding horses while Sarah and A.J.'s two older sisters, Lucy and Danielle, gossiped. Dinner that day was barbecued pork, courtesy of Rick Simpson, corn-on-the-cob from the Penbroke farm, potato salad that Dave claimed was an old family recipe, and deviled eggs that Jim said weren't an old family recipe, but were still "Damn good, even if I hafta say so myself." No one disagreed with him.

As mentioned earlier, Harry received a bicycle for his sixth birthday, as well as his very own backpack – a camping pack, not like his school pack – and miniature sleeping bag. Aurilia and Harry spent the week following his birthday camping out in the farthest corner of their acreage.

That fall, Harry began second grade, and was given the option to join Cub Scouts, which he did. Not long after that, he joined 4H as well, much to his mom's irritation. His first project with 4H was raising a goat. He called the kid 'Billy,' much to everyone's amusement. Aurilia learned the hard way that goats were browsers when Billy got loose and ate all the buds off her fall roses. Harry made sure the goat's pen was double-latched after that.

With his joining of Cub Scouts and 4H, Harry also began to make a couple of more friends. This caused some difficulty with A.J., though, as she thought that since he now had some friends that were boys, he didn't need her anymore. Harry had to laugh at her when she finally broke down and told him why she was angry. "Just 'cause I've got other friends now doesn't mean I don't wanna hang out with you! Who would I talk to about books if you weren't around? The guys don't read all that much."

"I… I guess I can see that." A.J. replied and then started chatting about the book they were reading for their TAG class – _Robinson Crusoe_. That led to the two of them commandeering the area around the pond for several days, playing castaways. What was more entertaining was when they finished that book and moved on to _Moby Dick_. They used the hayloft in the stable as their ship, and Jim soon regretted showing Harry how to use a lasso, as he often became the 'whale' in the kids' games of imagination.

Shortly before Christmas break, Harry was sent home with a note concerning his vision. He had been having difficulty seeing the blackboard in class, and after a perfunctory examination by the school nurse, she recommended that he see an optometrist. A week later, Harry was the owner of a pair of rectangular rimless glasses. He spent an entire day taking them off and putting them back on, just to see everything snap into crystal clarity.

The winter of 1986 also found a couple of subtle changes going on at the Westlake ranch. Aurilia began spending more and more time with Jim, and Dave didn't seem to mind all that much. He was often either with Harry, or over at the bar in Lovilla when Jim and Aurilia needed time alone together. Harry's ability to read people either wasn't working properly or refused to comment on the situation between his mom and Jim. Therefore, he was the only one that was surprised when Jim proposed to Aurilia at the Yule party that winter. Amy, who was standing near Dave, heard the darker Brewer brother mutter, "And it's about damn time, too." Amy agreed completely.

Their wedding was held on Beltane – May first – the following spring. With the Simpsons and Penbrokes in attendance, and a surprise showing of Jim and Dave's mom, a Justice-of-the-Peace performed a ceremony that was somewhere between a traditional Wiccan handfasting and a mating ceremony of Cherokee origin. Little Bird, Jim and Dave's mother, approved wholeheartedly at the combination of the two traditions.

Aurilia and Jim took their honeymoon in Cancún, Mexico. During the two weeks they were gone, Harry and Dave got to know each other really well, and Dave bought Harry a golden retriever puppy. Harry called her 'Missy.' Dave also introduced Harry to the wonderful world of sports, specifically baseball. When his mom and… Jim – Harry was still having difficulty transitioning to calling him 'Dad' – returned, they brought back custom-tooled boots for Dave and a bag of toys and games for Harry. When Harry pointed out that all the instructions for the games were in Spanish, Aurilia started teaching him the language.

For his birthday, Harry had asked for a little brother, much to his mom and Jim's embarrassment and Dave's amusement. Dave was in charge of the pool among their friends as to that very thing. He had his money on January, Amy thought more along the lines of the following June, and Rick had bet on that October. Instead of a sibling, though, for his birthday, Harry received his very own BB gun from Dave – who had insisted that it was about time for him to learn to shoot – and a real model airplane from Jim. Aurilia had surprised everyone when she gave him Kudzu. The horse had never really liked anyone but Harry, and Harry was the only one who could approach the horse without a pocket full of graham crackers or an apple without getting bit or spooking the fool animal into running.

Throughout the summer, Aurilia continued teaching Harry not only Spanish, but about the local plant life, as well as encouraging him to read whatever he wanted. When Jim moved into the house from the cottage, he noticed that the only television was a small 13-inch in the kitchen. When he asked Aurilia about it, she had merely shrugged and said, "I'm really too busy to bother with much TV. Besides, humankind survived for quite a while before that damn invention, and will continue to survive long after it's gone the way of the dodo."

"Then why have one at all?" Jim asked.

"Because I like to watch the news in the morning, and the reports of any school delays or cancellations are always on the morning news first. Harry normally has to walk out to meet the bus by seven-fifteen, and the radio doesn't announce school stuff until seven-thirty. The morning news on the TV runs a scroll along the bottom of the screen starting at six."

Jim nodded, "Makes sense."

Third grade posed no more difficulty to Harry than kindergarten or second grade had. In fact, he thought it somewhat easier, as the majority of the kids in the class left him pretty much alone. The two troublemakers, Chad and Levi, were hard-pressed to cause too much havoc, as the teacher, Mrs. Hardesty, was a cast-iron battleaxe of a teacher with more than thirty years' experience. She ran her classroom with an efficiency that most army barracks strived – and failed – to accomplish.

Harry continued to snag the highest grades in the class in the subjects of reading, science, and math, as well as English. His grades for history and social studies weren't the highest in the class, but very close to it, and his art grades were passable. His music teacher was impressed that he knew how to play the piano, courtesy of continuing lessons from Sarah, and he was often roped into playing for the twice-weekly music classes while the teacher taught the rest of the class how to read music and play recorders.

During that winter, Harry was sent home one day suffering from an outbreak of chicken pox. A day later, Aurilia received a call from Julia Penbroke. It seemed that A.J. was also suffering from the disease. As Alan had never had chicken pox as a child, A.J. was sent to spend the duration of the illness at Harry's. Neither of the kids could be happier about the situation; they got two weeks off of school, and Aurilia's knowledge of herbal medicine made it so that the itchiness of the rash nearly disappeared.

The doctor who had diagnosed both A.J. and Harry with the childhood ailment had cornered Aurilia just after pronouncing the children fit to return to school and demanded to know how it was that they had shaved a full week off of the normal three-week recovery time for the disease. Aurilia explained how her mother's fascination with herbal healing had been passed down to her. Much to Aurilia's surprise, the doctor didn't immediately scoff. "Tell me more," he said.

Aurilia shrugged, "There's not all that much to it. Mom was fond of saying that since all diseases were forces of nature, there were treatments for all of them in nature, as well. I used jewelweed to stop the bumps from itching – jewelweed is the natural antidote to poison ivy, oak, and sumac, and it works wonders on bug bites, too. It's better at soothing rashes than calamine is. Then I used a wash derived from cream wild indigo to make sure the spots they'd already scratched open wouldn't get infected. White willow bark, combined with alfalfa and purple coneflower made into a tea did the rest."

"What are the last three plants used for?" The doctor sounded genuinely curious.

"White willow is the plant origin of aspirin, it lowers fever and reduces pain without harming alertness."

The doctor shook his head, amused at his own forgetfulness, though in his defense, he had learned that particular tidbit of information almost thirty years earlier. "I knew that… continue, please."

"Alfalfa and purple coneflower help to stimulate the immune system. Most folks don't recognize purple coneflower as a medicinal plant until it's pointed out that another name for it is echinacea."

"Fascinating," the doctor replied. "and you came up with this remedy?"

Aurilia shook her head, "Goddess, no. My mom did, and wrote it down in a journal of home remedies."

"And the plants, themselves? Did you have to order them or…?"

"Nope. They all grow on my land."

The doctor was beginning to get an idea. "Would you be able to put together some kits of what you used on Harry? I would like to investigate this in a bit more detail…"

Aurilia smiled, "Sure. How many did you have in mind?"

"Say… a hundred for now. What sort of shelf-life do these herbal remedies have?"

"Depends on the plant. Most dried plants will store for two or three years. The salves and gels made from them vary, depending on what the base is. If the salve base is animal in origin – like rendered fat or something similar – they'll store for six months or so. If it's plant-based, they'll store for a year or more. But, like I said, it depends on the plants involved. Something made from an astringent like the cream wild indigo would last longer than, say, alfalfa."

The doctor nodded, "I understand. When you've got these kits together, would you be so kind as to include a single set of instructions on how to use them, as well as your best guess as to how long they will store?"

"Sure. When did you want them by?"

"You've plenty of the plants you'll need?"

"Yeah. I keep quite a bit on hand. Mom got me into the habit."

"Then as soon as you can get them done."

It took Aurilia two weeks to get the kits made. When Jim asked her what she was doing, Aurilia laughed a bit. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something more. Hell, I need _something_ to do with my time. You and Dave have the stable more than under control, all it needs now is time to work out the lineage of the horses. With Harry in school all day, and at Scout meetings once a week, 4H twice a week, and over at A.J.'s when he's not playing around with Sarah on the piano… I've got a plethora of time on my hands and nothing to do."

"I know, honey, but I meant what are you doin' right _now_?"

Aurilia stapled the last of the tea-bags closed. "I'm making up kits of what I used on Harry and A.J. when they were sick. Dr. Treburn asked me to when I explained the medicine behind the plants – he was rather surprised at the kids' recovery time. I think he's going to start some sort of study…"

"Oh." Jim shrugged and reached around Aurilia to open the fridge. "You know, you could probably sell stuff like that…"

Aurilia paused as she was putting the teabags of alfalfa and echinacea into a box. "You know… I probably could. There's a lot of people in this area that don't trust doctors all that much, particularly the older folks."

"There's a building for sale up in Lovilla. Dave mentioned it the other day. It's across the street from the post office. It useta be a li'l restaurant, but the guy that owned it died and his kids didn't wanna hafta run a business, so they decided to sell it and split the cash."

"How do you know that?"

Jim snickered, "The same way most folks 'round here know everythin' 'bout ev'ryone else. By listenin' when other folks're talkin'."

And so, by the end of January, Aurilia was closing on the purchase of what used to be a restaurant. It took a good six weeks to remodel the building into something she could work with, and during that time, Aurilia was too busy making various medicines and herbal shampoos, lotions, and soaps to harass Mr. Peterson too much. Jonas chalked her absence up to the fact that she now had a full family to look after, and thanked his lucky stars for that fact.

News of Harry's long-anticipated little brother didn't arrive until he was getting ready to start the fourth grade. Much to the adult's amusement, A.J. had won the betting pool. She had staked her life savings – a grand total of almost a hundred dollars – on that August; the bet had been for when news of the impending child would be known, not when it would be born, Dave planned to start a different pool for _that_. Jim and Aurilia still didn't know about the pool, but when Dave handed A.J. her winnings – which totaled almost a full thousand dollars – he asked, "Just how the _hell_ didja know?"

A.J. grinned at him and pocketed the money. "Old family secret, Dave. Sorry. If I told ya, I'd hafta kill ya." Dave just chuckled in response.

The littlest Brewer arrived on April thirteenth, 1989 – A.J. won the bet, again – and they named him Cyrus, after Aurilia's grandfather, with the middle name of Morningstar, after Jim and Dave's maternal grandfather. That month also found Harry sitting another series of placement tests, this time at the request of Jeff Wright, the TAG teacher. When they were completed, it was determined that Harry would be skipped into sixth grade the following fall. A.J. was ecstatic. She and Harry were now going to be in the same grade. She repeatedly was overheard telling Harry that he wasn't allowed to take any more placement tests, much to everyone's amusement. In all honesty, the only reason A.J. hadn't been skipped a grade or two was because her parents didn't want her to have to deal with classmates older than her when she got to high school – being only fourteen in a class of six-and-seventeen year-olds could be rather problematic.

The summer between the end of Harry's fourth grade year and the start of his sixth grade year found him being forced to make a decision. His mom told him that he was going to start having lessons every week, but also told him that what those lessons were for was up to him. She gave him the option of karate, dance, an instrument besides the piano, or piloting lessons from the small airport in Knoxville, which specialized in sending out crop-dusters and served as an official weather-watchpoint for the local news. To say that Harry was torn would have been an understatement.

"Why the long face, Harry?" Dave asked one afternoon in early June just after classes had been let out.

"Just thinkin', Dave." Harry finished up sweeping out the last of the old straw in Kudzu's stall and grabbed the hose off the hook near the stall door.

"What about?" Dave was shoveling the manure from the stalls into a wheelbarrow.

"Mom's said I'm gonna take lessons this summer, but she said I could pick what they're for, and I can't decide." Harry turned the hose on and began spraying the lingering dirt and dust out of the stall.

"What're your choices?" Dave spoke a little louder in order to be heard over the spray of the hose.

"Dance, which I already decided I ain't gonna be takin'."

"You don't wanna prance about in tights? Damn… I coulda sworn you woulda liked that!" Dave teased.

Harry scowled and 'lost control' of the hose momentarily. Dave got a face full of high-pressure water. "No!"

Dave laughed at Harry's indignation. "Okay, so no dance. What about the rest?"

"Karate, music, or flying." Harry finished up with the hose.

"Music? What 'bout you an' Sarah an' all that piano?"

Harry shrugged and began coiling the hose up. "Mom said it'd be somethin' else."

"Hell, Harry. If you wanted to learn somethin' else, you coulda just asked me or Jim. I play guitar, an' Jim knows how to fiddle." Dave scooped up the last of the manure and set the shovel against the wall.

"Well, that'd be okay, then. One less thing to try to decide on. Still hafta decide between karate or flying, though, an' I don't think I can."

Dave leaned against the wall for a moment to wipe the last of the water out of his face, "Then don't. Let your mom know you wanna take both. Jim an' me only know street-fightin', an' flyin' sounds like it could be fun."

Harry brightened, "Cool. I think that'll work. I know mom said the flying lessons are in the mornings, and the hours on the flyer that mom gave me for the karate are all in the afternoon or evening. This could work!" Harry happily finished up helping Dave with the stable before heading inside to tell his mom his decision.

The next day promised to be unnaturally hot for so early in the summer, something that no one was really enjoying. Sarah's graduation ceremony had been set for that afternoon, and was going to be held outside. About the same time as the last of the graduating class was called up to receive their diplomas, heavy thunderclouds began to gather. Most of the after-celebration was cut short when rain started to fall. The majority of people who had gathered to watch the celebration moved into the high school gymnasium. Always on the cautious side, Amy was listening to a little portable radio, and it was a good thing, too. She elbowed her husband rather hard, and Harry watched the sheriff lean over and listen to the small blue radio as well. Rick's face tightened and he hurried over to where Sarah and her friends were chatting. Sarah immediately stood up and pointed to a couple of doors in the back of the gym.

Rick whistled shrilly, capturing everyone's attention. "Hey! The radio's just said that there's a funnel-cloud forming just south of Knoxville and it's heading this way. It'd be best to take cover. Sarah's said the nearest tornado-safe areas are the locker rooms."

He had just managed to get that last little bit out before the entire assembly seemed to pause, then rush as one towards the doors Sarah had pointed out earlier. Harry wasn't sure how, in the confusion, he managed to stick close to his mom and Jim. Aurilia was hanging on to Cyrus like both their lives depended on it – as they very well may.

In the crowded locker room – the girls' locker room – the tension was almost visible. Before long, the lights flickered out, and the only light came from the air-vents near the ceiling and around the crack in the door that opened onto the track and football field. A couple of seconds after they were plunged into darkness, they could hear the tornado sirens going off in the distance, and the fear level jumped another couple of notches. Unfortunately, Harry's talent for feeling what others were was working almost too well, he felt more afraid than he'd ever been before.

The small part of his brain that remained unaffected by the fear of the people crowding into the smallish locker room reflected that they were afraid because tornadoes were something that not even science could predict with any regularity; they could decimate whole towns, take lives, and in general strip away the veneer of civilization, causing people to revert to hiding in holes in the ground, almost as though the last ten millennia of evolution and technological development had never happened. Now, these thoughts were not precisely conscious on Harry's part, it was more of an instinctual understanding of the fear that his fellows were expressing.

The fear level ratcheted up another notch when a loud howling became audible. People clung together as the ceiling tiles began to shake and the vent covers rattled in their frames, showering dust down on the assembly. Harry, feeling not only his own fear at the weather outside, but also that of everyone else in the immediate area, squeezed his eyes closed and hoped with all his heart that the tornado would miss them.

Something deep within Harry – something not often called on, but always laying in wait – rose up to answer the challenge. Harry wasn't sure what was going on, only that he suddenly felt weirdly _stretched_, twisted beyond what should have been possible, let alone probable. There was an answering echo of that strange, quivering sensation somewhere nearby. A few moments later, there was a sudden silence as deafening in its way as the howling wind had been.

"You all right?" someone asked in a deep voice Harry didn't recognize.

Someone else, a woman from the sound of it, replied, "Yeah. You?"

That seemed to be the signal for everyone to begin talking all at once. Harry stuck close to his mom, brother, and Jim as they made their way to the door and exited the building. Rapidly melting hail littered the ground. The Brewer family was soon joined by the majority of people from both locker rooms. A.J.'s oldest sister, Lucy, was a part of Sarah's class, so the entire Penbroke family was present as well. Harry couldn't remember if they were in the same locker room as him or not, but it no longer mattered. The Penbrokes, Simpsons, and Brewers mingled together in a knot. Alan, Rick, and Jim walked to the front of the school, to check on their cars. Seconds after they disappeared around the side of the red brick building, Jim's voice shouted back, "Hey you guys! You _have_ to come see this!"

Everyone hurried to the front of the building, then stopped short at the sight that greeted them. The mass of cars present for the graduation ceremony clogged the parking lot, and there were no few dents in shining metal, but that wasn't where everyone was looking. Just across the two-lane highway that led from Bussey to the main road to Knoxville, a path of ripped-up cornfields and decimated trees nearly three hundred yards from one side to the other and stretching into the distance suddenly stopped, mere feet away from the road, as though it had hit an invisible wall.

An older man, balding and wearing thick glasses laughed shrilly at the sight. "What the _hell_ is so funny, Appleton?" Rick asked.

Harry vaguely recognized the name as one of the teachers in the high school. Appleton shook his head, "F-3, at the least. Maybe even an F-4. We were very lucky, friends. There's no way the school would have stood up to a tornado that strong."

No few of the gathering felt gooseflesh creep down their arms. Harry, still feeling weirdly twisted out of sync with himself, was one of the few who didn't share the sentiment. Dave walked up and stood next to Jim, "Wow."

Jim nodded and stepped a little closer to where the driveway to the school opened onto the road. Something, that same something from earlier, seemed to recognize that the threat was over with, and snapped itself back into slumber deep within the green-eyed boy. Harry cried out softly, whatever it was had _hurt_. His mom handed Cy to Amy and knelt down to take a look at Harry. His nose was bleeding.

Aurilia reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. She handed it to Harry and told him to hold it over his nose. One of the other parents present said, "It was probably the shift in the air-pressure. He's probably got a helluva headache, too."

Aurilia glanced up at the speaker. It was a middle-aged woman with grey hair that had probably been strawberry blonde at one point. "What would you know about it?"

The woman shrugged, "I'm a nurse, but that's beside the point. I used to get nosebleeds like that all the time when I was a kid. Every time the air-pressure changed suddenly."

Aurilia shook off the hostility that was the result of nerves, fear, and her son being hurt. "Oh. Thanks." She turned to Jim and Dave. "Guys? I think we ought to head home. Make sure it's still there, and all that."

Jim nodded, and Dave took Cy from Amy. The five of them piled into the minivan Aurilia had purchased shortly before Cyrus was born and made their way home. Since their home was about five miles further south than the school, as well as two miles further west, Aurilia hadn't been too worried about her place, but they did need to check and make sure the horses and Harry's miscellaneous pets were all right – aside from Billy the goat, Harry had also done a project for 4H on raising a cow (named Lydia for reasons undisclosed by A.J.) and on breeding guinea pigs (of which there were now fourteen. The sow was named Fluffy, and the boar had been dubbed 'Tribble' by Dave.) Harry located Missy, his golden retriever, hiding under his mom's bed.

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**A/N2:** And that's chapter six. If you're really curious about the towns I've written about, they are all real places and so you can see them on a map if you want to. I've tinkered a little with the microgeography of where, precisely, the ranch is, and some of the history of the area, but the places mentioned are real. Thanks again to my beta, Aurilia. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Has anyone else been having difficulty logging in to this site today? I tried several times, and my browser would prompt me to download a .php file. Once I could log in, it wouldn't let me upload the chapter… Arg. I hope this doesn't happen often.

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**Chapter Seven: Found**

Since Sarah was taking some classes at the community outreach center for the University of Iowa in Knoxville, she had agreed to take Harry to his lessons every day. Harry's flying class was every morning for six weeks, from eight until one. Then, on Wednesdays and Fridays, he had karate lessons from two until four. He still had 4H meetings on Monday and Thursday evenings, from five until eight, and Cub Scouts met every Tuesday at six in the evening. Most of Harry's Saturdays were spent helping Dave with his chores, listening to the baseball games on Dave's pocket-radio. Sundays found Harry wasting time with A.J., either by going swimming in the pond, fishing in the river, or riding. It was a hectic life, to be sure, but Harry loved every minute of it.

There were six people, counting Harry, taking the piloting lessons at the Knoxville airport. One was an older woman who liked talking about her grandkids and planned on starting up a parachute jump. Another was a energetic boy around eighteen who was going to go into the Air Force after he graduated high school the following spring. The third and fourth members were obviously related blonde women in their twenties. Harry never caught whether they were sisters or merely cousins, but they both had stated they were taking the lessons because 'it sounded like fun.' The last member of the class was a guy that could easily be either thirty or sixty, but who wore glasses that made his eyes look three times their actual size. He kept mostly to himself, muttering constantly about drag and inertia and air-flow vectors.

As the youngest of the group, Harry quickly became their mascot. The class was taught by an overly amicable older man named Toby McCarty. He had been a fighter-pilot in WWII, and since retiring from the Air Force in the seventies, had been teaching about ten people a year how to fly light aircraft. He and Harry got along extremely well. Harry demonstrated a natural knack for flying during the course of the class, and Toby was often heard saying that Harry would make a damn fine fighter-pilot when he grew up. Harry wasn't too sure about that, as he'd yet to decide what he really wanted to do when he grew up. On Harry's tenth birthday, he was awarded a certificate of completion from the governor of Iowa – in addition to his pilot's license – which heralded him as the third-youngest pilot in the state. The second-youngest had been eight and received his license in 1979, and in 1983, a seven year-old girl had received hers.

Also, for his tenth birthday, Aurilia and Jim got Harry the ultimate in model airplanes; an ultralight aircraft kit – basically a miniature airplane that was open to the air, like a hang-glider, and could carry two people. With Jim and Dave's help, it was soon built and Harry spent as much time in the air as in his meetings and lessons during the week. On the weekend immediately after they got done building it, he took A.J. up. That short flight resulted in Harry having to change his clothes and A.J. needing a full three hours to fully calm down and recover her color. After that, he and A.J. stuck to riding the horses or their bikes whenever the appeal of their own two feet paled. Harry had also received a guitar from Dave, who spent about an hour each evening before everyone went to bed showing him how to play and a .22 rifle – an upgrade from the BB gun – from Jim. A.J. had gotten him a leather-bound copy of the complete works of the Grimm brothers.

Aurilia's store in Lovilla, though off to a somewhat rocky start, began doing a brisk business after the incident with the tornado. Most people, though they wouldn't admit it, tend to be rather superstitious, and believed she had something to do with the tornado stopping where it did. Besides herbal remedies and custom soaps, Aurilia soon found herself approached for other things. Things like good luck charms and love potions. Aurilia was highly amused at that. She had gone from a social pariah to the local 'last resort hope.'

Amy had asked her once about the types of magick she did, and Aurilia had responded thus: "Well, there's really two things that work in magick. There's the stuff that's scientifically provable, like the herbal medicines and whatnot. And then there's the stuff that works because people _believe_ it works. For instance, if someone came to me and asked for something to capture the attention of a certain someone, I'd make it for them and they'd go out with a bit more confidence. Confidence can do a lot more for a person than the best cosmetics ever could. Even though it isn't magic like in fairy tales, it works."

"What about the other things you've told me about? Those holidays and whatnot?"

Aurilia shrugged. "It's a religion, what I practice. There's legends and stories behind the holidays, just like any other holiday out there, but you don't have to believe the same as me for magick to work. You just have to believe in the magick. And, face it, if someone's coming to me for a charm or something like that, then they _already_ believe in it. It doesn't matter that they don't have the same view of God that I do."

"I suppose I can understand that." Amy said and then asked, "What about things like tarot cards?"

Aurilia laughed. "What about them?"

"Do they really work?"

"Yes and no. They don't really predict the future, but if used properly, they can help you examine a problem from another perspective. They help your mind look at things from another angle. It's the same with all divination tools."

"What about those stories you hear about professional card readers that seem to know a hell of a lot about someone they just met? How do they do it?"

"Careful observation. Most people that go to a professional palmist or card reader usually go for one of four reasons; to find out about their love-lives, to find out their 'future,' on a lark, or to hopefully reconnect with a lost loved one. Knowing this, a professional card reader will normally ask a couple of pointed questions while setting up. Most cards used in divination have rather generalized meanings which can be interpreted for any question. For example, the Tower card in a standard deck just means 'folly, unexpected trouble.' It could be interpreted to mean that a current love-affair is a bad decision, that the questioner is having problems at work, et cetera. The card reader keeps a close eye on the questioner during the entire process, doing things like reading body language and whatnot. By the time the reading's over with, the questioner comes away with the feeling that they've really been touched by something psychic or otherworldly when it's really nothing more than keen observation and telling the person what they want to hear."

"So it's all just smoke and mirrors?"

Aurilia nodded, "Precisely. However, there _are_ some instances that even I can't explain, nor do I want to, where someone gets a genuine psychic flash. You've heard all those stories about people who just _knew_ something was wrong at home, and so they call a neighbor to discover that their house is on fire, or that their kid broke his arm at school, or something like that. I can't and _won't_ try to explain things like that."

"Completely understandable," Amy replied and let the topic drop.

Harry's sixth grade year passed mostly uneventfully. The most exciting thing that had happened was when the science class was studying aerodynamics and he was allowed to fly to school to demonstrate his airplane. The only other thing that happened that year was relatively normal; there were three snow-days called, which were made up at the beginning of June.

Unbeknownst to the Brewer clan in Iowa, halfway around the world, an increasingly-frantic Albus Dumbledore was searching for Harry Potter. As of July first, the only knowledge concerning the Boy-Who-Lived was that he was most decidedly _not_ where Albus had left him. Upon speaking with Petunia Dursley, he had learned that Harry had _never_ been a part of her household, much to the undisguised delight of the horse-faced blonde woman.

Albus was sitting at his desk in his office at Hogwarts, staring at an envelope that sat on his blotter. The envelope lacked an address, and said only 'H. Potter.' _Where are you, Harry?_ he thought, and as though in answer to his unspoken question, there was a knock on his door. A rather excited Minerva McGonagall hurried in before he could answer the knock. "Albus! We've found him!"

Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin. I trust we were able to keep the Ministry from finding out about this?"

Minerva nodded, "Of course, Albus. Alastor was the one who found him. He just left, saying something about warding his rubbish bins, or something to that effect."

"What else did Moody have to say?" Dumbledore asked. "Where did he find Harry?"

Minerva sank into the chintz armchair across the desk from the headmaster. "He noticed how our inquiries in the wizarding world were going nowhere, so he began checking with his contacts in the muggle world."

"Go on," Albus conjured some tea and poured them each a cup.

"It appears that young Potter was discovered before his aunt found him that morning, Albus, and the muggle police were unable to locate the people mentioned in the note you left. Mrs. Dursley protested knowledge of her sister, as well as of Harry. Harry was later adopted by the woman who found him."

"Who is she?"

"A muggle by the name of Aurilia Brewer, though at the time she adopted Harry, her surname was Westlake. We couldn't locate Harry in Great Britain because he's no longer here. When the boy was about four, she moved the both of them across the pond. Alastor took the initiative and spent the last week checking things out."

"Yes, yes, all well and good, but _where_ is Harry?" The headmaster nibbled on a ginger newt.

"A tiny little hamlet called Marysville, in Iowa. Apparently, the Brewer woman and her husband raise horses, and she runs an herbalist store in a neighboring town. Alastor was rather amused when he told me this, but apparently the locals think her to be some sort of witch."

Albus nearly choked on a sip of tea, "And?"

Minerva shook her head, "Careful, Albus. She's not, though Alastor did mention there are wards surrounding her properties. He said that none of the Brewers – the woman, her husband, or the husband's brother – have any sort of magical signature. There's a family that lives nearby with a history of magic every other generation, so it's not impossible that someone else set them, but when Alastor spoke with them, no one admitted to setting the wards."

"And what of the wards themselves?"

Minerva shrugged, "I don't know, but Alastor did say that he'd never seen magic quite like that before, and you _know_ he's seen some odd ones."

Albus looked into his tea cup, musing on that. "I suppose it might be an example of accidental magic… Though, I've not heard of ward-setting as accidental magic, except in extremely unusual circumstances…"

After a couple of minutes of silence, Minerva cleared her throat. "Albus?"

Dumbledore looked up from the cup. "Oh, yes. I suppose I ought to go over and explain things, shouldn't I?"

Minerva smiled at him, "Of course. You've hired the Defense professor for this year?"

Albus nodded, "Yes. Quirrell has agreed to continue in that capacity, once he returns from Albania. There really isn't much else to get done before classes start."

"I'm sure I'll be able to handle it."

Albus nodded and stood, "Then I leave Hogwarts in your more than capable hands, Minerva. I will be back before the new year begins." He paused at the door to his quarters, "Oh, and Minerva?"

"Yes, Albus?"

"I'll be taking Severus with me."

"Of course, Albus." Minerva knew that the potions master knew as much, if not more than the headmaster did concerning the more obscure branches of magic. She didn't know that the main reason Albus was taking Severus was because he was the only member of the Hogwarts faculty that had a muggle drivers' license.

Two days later, July third, a bright red Volkswagen Rabbit sped along two-lane highways bordered by tall fields of corn and shorter fields of soybeans. Occasionally, a town would blink by, or a farm. Unaware of his rapidly approaching destiny, Harry Brewer – as he had officially changed his name when his mom married Jim – was sitting on the bank of the pond, relishing a day without any sorts of lessons. His Cub Scout meeting that week was canceled as the next day was Independence Day, and most of his fellow troop members would be out of town.

Earlier that summer, he'd made friends with a rat snake that lived in a hole not far from the pond. Harry had never had the chance to meet a snake before that, though he'd seen evidence of them every now and then, and once had come across a dead snake on the road between his house and A.J.'s. It had been flattened completely, and had dried out so much that Harry could barely tell it had once been a garter snake. Eyebright, the rat snake, was the first such animal that Harry had met in the flesh, so to speak. Harry, understandably, kept the knowledge that he could speak to and understand snakes from his parents. He didn't even tell A.J. To be quite honest, he wasn't all too sure if he wasn't going slightly crazy. The absolute _last_ thing he needed would be to tell someone he could hear snakes talking… He'd gotten past the worst of the teasing, and be _damned_ if he was about to do or say something that would bring it back.

The rat snake slithered up out of his den and made a beeline towards Harry. "Ah, my favorite warming rock has returned."

"Hello, Eyebright. I was hoping you'd show up." Harry let the snake slither up around his shoulders. Eyebright was about three and a half feet long, and had lived near the pond for twenty seasons, which Harry figured meant five years, though he couldn't confirm that with the snake. It may have meant twenty years.

"And why is that, my warming rock?"

Harry giggled as the snake's tongue flicked across his ear. "'Cause Uncle Dave's been complaining about rats getting into the oats for the horses. Care to help us out a bit?"

"Rats, you say? Hmm… Let me think about it."

"What's there to think about? I know you like rats more than frogs, and there are at least a couple…"

The snake laughed, "Yes, I do. But those large four-feets in the building… Them, I'm not so fond of. Nor they of me."

"What, the horses? Don't worry about them. The grain is kept in a couple of barrels in the hayloft, well away from the horses. I can take you there and then bring you back out here in a couple of days."

The snake coiled up on Harry's lap. "Oh, very well. Just not now, all right? Warm me a bit, first?"

"Sure thing." Harry absently petted the cool skin of his snake friend, the bright sunlight warming both of them and making them drowsy.

By the time that the aforementioned red car skidded to a halt in front of the house, Harry and Eyebright were both asleep. Jim and Dave were in Knoxville, getting supplies, and Aurilia was in the kitchen with Cyrus. Since it was the day before Independence Day, her store was closed, as it would be the next, as well, and Aurilia was working on some more soaps. She seemed to sell more of the soaps and shampoos than anything else, though that was slowly changing as word-of-mouth spread about the effectiveness of her remedies.

Aurilia heard a car door slam and looked out the kitchen window. "Who on Earth…?" she mused aloud. She quickly rinsed off her hands, thankful that she wasn't in the middle of anything that needed to be watched carefully, and hurried to the front door. She opened it just as an old man in a lemon-yellow leisure suit was reaching up to knock. "Can I help you?"

The old man covered a start of surprise and lowered his hand. "I believe so, madam. You would be Aurilia Brewer, yes?"

Aurilia nodded, "Yeah. What can I do for you?"

"May we come in?"

After having lived in the UK for almost five years, his accent was easy to place. Aurilia's thoughts immediately went to Harry. She had heard horror stories about kids that were adopted only to be ordered back to their birth parents years later. "What's this about?" she asked, not moving from the front door. She caught a glimpse of an unpleasant-looking man dressed all in black just behind the old man on her porch.

Albus cleared his throat, "It's about Harry, Mrs. Brewer. May we please come in?"

Aurilia paled considerably, certain that these men were there to take her son away. "No," her voice was tense, "no, you may not! You're not going to take my son! I won't let you." Aurilia made to slam the door, when the younger man with the black hair and eyes caught the door. Aurilia reflected that the man's rather slim appearance hid a surprising strength.

"I think you misunderstand our meaning, Mrs. Brewer," the old man said. "We are not here to take Harry away, merely to inform you of something concerning his heritage. There _are_ a couple of other things we are interested in, however that can wait until after introductions and our other business is taken care of." Aurilia let go of the door. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and this is Severus Snape," recognition at the first name flashed through Aurilia's eyes. She still had the letter she found with Harry packed away in a box of important paperwork. "May we please come in? What we have to discuss may take some time…"

Aurilia nodded, curious despite herself. She opened the door and stepped aside, "The living room is through there," she pointed to the appropriate doorway, "I'll get us something to drink from the kitchen."

Dumbledore shook his head, "No need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Brewer."

"It's no trouble. Besides, if this is going to take long, I should put Cy down for his nap first." Aurilia left the two men standing in the hall as she hurried to the kitchen and retrieved her other son from his high-chair.

"Isn't he a cute little one?" Albus cooed over the toddler when the two of them reappeared from the kitchen. Cyrus giggled and tried to grab fistfuls of Albus' long white beard.

"No, Cy, leave the man's beard alone," Aurilia pulled Cy out of reach. "I'll be right back, make yourselves at home." With that, she and Cy disappeared up the stairs.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"You're certain this is the proper place?"

"Yes, Severus. Quite sure." The headmaster retrieved a tin of sweets from his pocket and offered them to Severus. Snape declined, and Albus popped a mint in his mouth. "What have you determined so far?"

"Just that I agree with Moody. The wards here are unlike anything else I've ever seen before. Anything more will have to wait until I have the chance to examine them in more detail." Just then, Aurilia reappeared at the top of the stairs. She motioned for the men to follow her to the kitchen. She set about putting the supplies she'd been working with away and making glasses of iced tea for each of them. While she worked, Severus watched the woman. She was neither graceful nor clumsy, neither tall nor short, and was a tad stocky. She had curly auburn hair that she'd cut short and wore gold-rimmed glasses that had a vague cats-eye shape about them. Behind the lenses of the glasses, her eyes were a bright bottle green and slightly almond-shaped. They reminded Severus of someone, but he couldn't quite place who.

Aurilia placed the glasses of iced tea on the table in front of the men and sat in an empty chair. "What's this about?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat again and began, "I shall reiterate that we are not here to take Harry away from you, merely provide you with some information and allow Harry to know of some of what he has inherited from his birth parents. To begin, I will say that I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, located in Scotland…" Albus went on to describe the school, how magic like in the fairy tales was indeed real, and Harry's role in the defeat of a Dark Lord when he was barely the same age as Cyrus. The whole explanation took almost three hours and no few practical demonstrations. During the course of the explanation, Aurilia revealed she'd read and saved the letter left with Harry. When she asked for more about the man mentioned who had killed Harry's biological parents, Dumbledore shook his head and stated that it was a topic better discussed at a later time.

While Albus and Severus were speaking with Aurilia, Harry woke up. From the position of the sun, he could tell he'd been asleep two and a half hours or so – getting the approximate time from the sun was a skill he'd learned in the Scouts. He stretched and Eyebright woke at the movement. "Hey! I was sleeping!"

Harry chuckled, "So was I, but I think nap time is over. I got some things I wanted to get done today, and as enjoyable as your company is, I'm not gettin' done what I wanted to."

The snake sighed, "Very well. Take me to the rats. And don't forget me!"

"Like I could! I'm sure you'll remind me you're still in the stable every time I'm there."

Eyebright chuckled. "Of course," he smugly replied.

Harry coiled the snake on his shoulders after getting to his feet. He stopped at the stable long enough to deposit Eyebright in the hayloft before heading to the metal garage where his airplane was stored. Missy joined him after a few minutes. Harry opened the doors to the hangar and pushed the ultralight out into the sun. The motor needed some minor maintenance work – changing the oil and such – and the day was too beautiful to do so indoors. Missy was unimpressed with the airplane and wanted to play. Her human was supposed to be paying attention to _her_! She noticed that Harry kept using the same bit of metal to tinker with the large bird, so when Harry sat the wrench down, she darted forward and grabbed it.

"Hey! Missy! Give that back!" Harry scolded the dog. Missy yipped playfully around the metal bone and took off. Harry jumped to his feet and chased after her. "Missy! Come back here!" The golden retriever led him on a merry chase down the hill, along the bank of the river, through a branch of forest that was relatively close to the house, through the horses' stable yard, around the pond – three times – and back up to the house. She wormed her way through the doggy-door, Harry close behind her. "Missy! Get back here!"

The dog raced down the hallway and into the kitchen. Harry ricocheted off of the banister and spun through the doorway to the kitchen. "Missy!" He skidded to a halt when he saw that Missy had dropped the wrench and was now being petted by a strange old man in a bright yellow, old-fashioned suit. There was another man sitting with his mother at the table, dressed all in black, despite the warmth of the day. "Um… Hi?" He leaned down and picked up the wrench, tucking it into his back pocket. He was abruptly uncomfortably conscious of the fact that he was sweaty and covered in grease from the plane.

"Harry, go wash up and then come back here. These men have some… startling information for you." Aurilia smiled at her son.

Harry's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Oh-kay…" He headed to the half-bath under the stairs. _I wonder what this is all about… _Harry used the strong soap his mom made to get the grease off of his hands and then washed his face. He paused when he caught his eyes in the mirror. The sense that sometimes told him what to expect twinged, _Whatever those men want, it's important. _Something suddenly occurred to him. _I could sense Mom in the kitchen when I opened the front door, but neither of those men… Absolutely nothing… How weird… I wonder if my talent, or whatever it is, is broken?_ While he mused, his eyes examined his reflection to make sure he was relatively presentable. His eyes lingered on the scar on his forehead and he wondered once again how he'd received it. He knew he was adopted, and that when his mom found him, he'd had a cut on his head, but none of the details as to how he'd attained it. Deciding that he was about as presentable as he could get without a bath and a change of clothes, he headed to the kitchen again.

"Better?" he asked his mom.

Aurilia nodded, "Much. This is Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. They're here from Scotland. Gentlemen, this is my son, Harry Brewer."

Harry offered his hand to both of the men. "Pleased ta meetcha," he said.

Albus shook his hand, "Likewise, Mr. Brewer." Harry could now sense the old man. Dumbledore was feeling relieved, he could tell, and slightly amused. The other man, Snape, didn't say anything but did shake Harry's hand. There was a brief moment when Harry met Severus' eyes and he could feel a shock of surprise coming from the man, but it disappeared just as Harry registered the emotion. Though he could now sense Dumbledore, he was still unable to sense Snape.

Harry slid into an empty chair. "So… what's this about?"

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**A/N2:** I'll be posting the OMAKE for this story after this book is done. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This chapter is nearly twice as long as any of the preceding ones... Hooray for me! The next chapter may take up to a week to post because my fabulous beta has brought it to my attention that how I had ended this chapter previously seemed rushed, and so I'll be adding another chapter of normal 4-5K word-length between what I have here and what was originally my chapter nine. Hopefully, this will clear a few things up that appear to have gotten lost in the haze of writing the first time.

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**Chapter Eight: Flying Solo**

Later that evening, Harry was back to working on his airplane. His head was spinning from the information he received from the two wizards – _Wizards! I don't know what to think… It isn't every day that you find out that not only is magic really _real_, like in the storybooks, but that you're able to use it! And not only that, but that you managed to take down some evil guy and no one knows quite how, only that some sort of weird spell my biological mom used was involved. _Harry tightened the last bolt on the motor of the plane and checked the sky. There was still another three hours of daylight left. He topped off the gas tank and started the motor. He belted himself down, pulled on his helmet and plugged it into the radio. He aimed the plane down the driveway, which was just long enough to use as a runway. Dave and his dad had arrived shortly after Snape and Dumbledore had finished explaining things to him, and were now getting a shorter explanation from the two men.

While Harry was taxiing down the driveway, the group of adults in the kitchen halted their discussion. "Sounds like Harry's going flyin'." Dave said.

"Pardon?" Albus asked.

"Harry got his pilots' license last summer and we got him an airplane for his birthday," Jim explained. "He likes to go flyin' when he wants to be alone."

Though Severus had been spending the majority of his life in the wizarding world – his father, after all, had been muggle, and he'd grown up in a muggle neighborhood – he still had a better grasp of the muggle world than Albus, whose only dealings in the muggle world were an occasional shopping foray into London for new and undiscovered sweets. "Isn't he rather young?" Severus asked.

Aurilia shrugged, "There aren't any laws against it, and it was something he wanted to do."

Severus raised an eyebrow, "And you allow him to go off on his own?"

Aurilia chuckled, "How else is he going to learn how to look after himself? Besides, he's got a radio with him," she pointed over to a corner of the kitchen. A C.B. radio sat amid a pile of recipe cards, notes, and receipts. "He can contact us if there's anything important, and he knows not to go past certain towns. He tried that last summer and got his flying privileges revoked for two months.

"But back to the topic at hand, you were about to explain just why we should allow Harry to go to school halfway around the world, rather than closer to home." Aurilia looked expectantly at the headmaster. Albus took a deep breath and began explaining about how Harry would have to go to Great Britain anyway, to claim his inheritance from his biological parents.

Meanwhile, Harry was cruising at a relatively low altitude of about a hundred feet, dipping down every now and then to skim over the tops of trees or the cornfields. He made sure to pull up before encountering a farm, though. The sound of the engine tended to startle the livestock, and he didn't want people getting mad at him because their cattle weren't giving milk. _I really don't know what to think about all this. I mean, I suppose I always knew that there was something _different_ about me, but this is more than I could have guessed._ Harry's radio crackled, "Unidentified aircraft at heading one-four-seven, please identify and confirm heading, over."

Harry startled out of his thoughts and glanced around to get his bearings. He was about a mile from the Knoxville airport, "This is Pokeweed, UL-three-niner-five, heading one-four-seven, altitude one-five-zero, over."

"That you, Harry? Over."

Harry grinned, "Yeah, this Toby? Over."

"Yep. What you doin' out this time of day? Over."

"Thinkin' mostly. Where's Chuck? Over." Chuck was the normal tower controller.

"Came down with the flu. Your mom's shop open tomorrow? Over."

"No, but I'll talk to her. It'll open up again the next day. You should tell him to try the lemongrass tea; even when you're not sick, it's pretty good. Over."

There was some slightly staticy laughter, "Will do, kiddo. You gonna bank around and head home, or were you intendin' on doin' so over D.M.? Over."

Harry paused for a moment, thinking, then shrugged. "I'll be banking 'round to one-eight-zero, if you don't mind. I don't wanna head home just yet an' we both know Mom'd be ticked if I made it all the way to Des Moines. Over."

Toby laughed again, "Ten-four, kiddo. Take care, there's some pretty nasty weather boiling up over Chariton. Thunderstorm. Over."

"Will do, Toby. Thanks. Over and out." Harry banked the plane to the south. He figured he'd follow the highway to a specific point, about halfway to Chariton, where one of the many gravel roads through the country crossed it, then turn towards home. The entire flight, counting the time he had already been in the air, would take a total of about an hour and a half.

_I wonder if there isn't more to what they were telling us than what they actually said… I kept getting the sense that Dumbledore was really anxious for me go to his school. I have to admit, it does sound like fun. But what about A.J.? And my other friends? Will I be able to tell them why I'm going to go to a school in Scotland? _Harry pulled the plane to two hundred feet and cruised above the highway. _That's assuming I decide to go. _Harry smiled to himself. _Admit it, Harry, you know you want to. It sounds a lot more fun than another year at Twin Cedars._ _It's in a _castle_… I've never even _seen _a castle outside of pictures… And I'd get to learn about that weird thing I have that lets me know what people are feeling and that gives me a heads-up whenever something important is about to happen to me. I wonder… Can all wizards talk to snakes?_ He continued thinking as he banked the plane towards the east and headed for home. He spotted thunderheads building on the horizon, but he wasn't worried. He had enough time to get home and get the plane put away before the storm even came close to their place.

He flicked the radio to the private channel that served between his helmet and his house, "Hey, guys, anyone there? Over."

There was a pause before Dave's voice crackled, "Yeah, Harry, go ahead. Over."

"There's a storm brewing over Chariton, looks like it's gonna head our way tonight. Over."

"How bad? Over."

Harry checked the horizon, "Pretty bad, Dave. It's not quite a wall cloud," wall clouds were what spawned tornadoes, "but if the haze is anything to go by, it's puttin' out a lot of rain. River might flood. Over."

"Gotcha. You on your way back? Over."

"Yeah. ETA ten minutes. There anything in the drive? Over."

"Yeah, I'll move the truck before you get here, though. Over and out."

Harry banked a little lower. The wind was starting to pick up, and the clouds along the southern horizon were noticeably closer than twenty minutes earlier. _Damn, this is gonna get here sooner than I thought…_Eight minutes later, Harry could see the property line of his homestead. The acres of forested land behind the house were long and narrow, bordered on one side by a gravel road and on the other by a private wildlife reserve. Harry nosed the plane down until he was skimming along the tops of the trees. He crested a low hill and the house, stable, pond, and cottage were directly ahead. He saw Dave pulling the truck – a late model Ford F-250 – into the garage. He also noticed his dad out at the stable, leading the horses to their stalls and tying down the doors with his mom's help. A flash of yellow, shadowed by black, on the porch let Harry know the visitors were watching. He banked around the house and lined up the nose of his plane with the end of the driveway. The landing was a little rough, as a sudden gust of wind threatened to knock him off course, but Harry corrected the potential problem in time.

By the time Harry had taxied the ultralight into the hangar, Dave had hurried over to help. The two men from Scotland had followed him. Though Harry still couldn't read Snape, he could tell that Dumbledore was watching them. Harry and Dave went through the post-flight checklist, primarily noting how much fuel was left and cleaning the bugs off of everything. Harry unhooked his helmet from the radio and sat it on the tool bench that graced one wall of the hangar. "She's banking sluggish," Harry said to Dave while they hurriedly wiped down the wings. "I think the tail-cable needs tightened."

Dave nodded, "We'll check it tomorrow, Hare-bear. Let's get back inside before that storm breaks, though. I dunno 'bout you, but I don't wanna be out here when it hits."

Harry chuckled, "You're just scared you'll get hit by lightning."

"Damn skippy," Dave agreed, nodding.

In a matter of minutes, the two of them had the plane cleaned and a note was chalked to the slate over the tool bench which read _Tighten tail-cable_. "Rather interesting device, Mr. Brewer."

Both Dave and Harry turned towards the headmaster. They hadn't forgotten their guests, exactly, just hurried ahead with the work that needed done. "Ya know, that could get confusin', callin' Harry 'Mr. Brewer' all the time. Last I checked, there were three of us that could answer ya." Dave grinned at Albus. "I'm Dave. Just Dave."

Harry echoed his uncle's grin. "And I'm Harry. An' I'm pretty sure Dad wouldn't mind you callin' him Jim."

There was a sudden crash of thunder, "An' it looks like we'd better get a move on, 'less we wanna get soaked on the way back to the house." Dave stood by the double doors to the hangar. "You two oughtta head on up, Harry an' I will be up shortly." He turned to Harry, "You got everythin' here?" Harry nodded. "Good, then I'm gonna go give a hand to your mom an' dad. Aurilia said somethin' 'bout spaghetti for dinner, if ya wanted to go ahead and get it started…"

Harry nodded, "Sure thing. Give a holler if you need any help with Kudzu."

"Will do," Dave hurried out of the hangar and down the hill to the stable.

"Kudzu?" Severus asked. The notoriously stubborn weed of the American southeast – actually an Asian transplant – was one of the primary ingredients in several headache draughts.

"My horse. He don't like people all that much," Harry replied while pulling the doors of the hangar closed. He glanced up at the sky, "I'm done out here." He waited for the headmaster and Snape to step out of the way of the steel doors. Harry secured the doors with a heavy latch just as the first drops of rain fell. He ran for the house, Snape and Dumbledore surprisingly close behind.

Harry paused in the kitchen, as they had come through the back door. "If you two would wait here while I go get washed up? I ain't gonna be long."

"Certainly," said Dumbledore, conjuring a silver teapot and a couple of cups. Harry grinned at the blatant display of magic and rushed up to his room. He took a quick shower and pulled on some clean jeans and a red-and-yellow t-shirt that had a cartoon hawk emerging from a line drawing of a tornado. He glanced out his window before heading back to the kitchen. Dave, Aurilia, and Jim were still getting everything tied down and secured for the storm.

Once back in the kitchen, Harry started the preparations for dinner. He had recently earned his cooking badge in the Scouts and Aurilia allowed him to cook a couple of times a week. "Mom, Dad, and Dave are still workin'," Harry said as he poured a little oil into a frying pan to brown the hamburger for the spaghetti sauce.

"Do you need any help?" Albus offered.

"No, I've done this before. Thanks, though." While the oil in the frying pan was heating, he filled a pot with water and added some salt before setting it on another burner. A loaf of French bread was cut in half lengthwise and sat on a cookie sheet. "So… Tell me more about Hogwarts. What kinda kids go there?"

"The magical kind, Harry," Albus replied, somewhat amused. "Other than that, they are much like any other youngsters. They have their friends and games. Schoolwork, of course."

Harry sprinkled a little water in the frying pan and was rewarded with sizzling. He took the ground beef out of the refrigerator and crumbled it into the pan. "What about the classes? Is it all magic, or do y'all teach things like science, history, and math, too?"

Albus took a sip of his tea, "Though all of the classes are magic-oriented, we do offer the magical equivalents of those subjects."

"Really? Like what?" Harry constantly stirred the beef in the pan with a long wooden spoon.

"We offer History of Magic, which is rather self-explanatory, Arithmancy, which is the mathematical theory behind magic, and lots of other classes, as well."

The hamburger was finished browning, so Harry took it off the burner and set it to drain in a colander over an old coffee can – it was generally a bad idea to let grease go down the drain. While the meat was draining, he buttered the bread and dusted a liberal amount of garlic powder on it before setting it to one side. He knew it would only take a few minutes to toast the bread, so he wasn't going to start it until everything else was almost ready. Harry glanced at Snape, "You teach there, yeah?"

Snape merely nodded, he had been watching Harry's behavior ever since the boy had returned from washing up. "Yes. I teach Potions."

Harry smiled, "Kinda like what Mom does? Oh, sorry, do you know Mom runs an herbalist store over in Lovilla? She makes natural soaps and remedies and lotions and stuff." The water for the pasta was boiling, so he added the noodles. The beef was done draining, so he dumped it back into the frying pan and added two cans of tomato sauce, a can of chopped mushrooms, and a chopped onion, as well as a packet of seasoning mix from the cupboard and some water.

"We were aware of the nature of her shop," Severus confirmed. He was torn between wanting to hate Harry – the boy really looked too much like his biological father – and being impressed by him. Harry worked confidently and efficiently at preparing dinner, cleaning as he went. Severus couldn't help but wish that all children were as conscientious. If they were, accidents in his classes would be cut by half.

"So, what you teach, is it like what Mom does?" Harry stirred the sauce with the same wooden spoon from earlier and turned the heat down. He also prodded the noodles with a large fork. They still needed to cook for a while.

"I would assume it is both similar and different. The very nature of magical brewing is different than merely distilling medicinal uses from plants. If you were to make a mistake with your mother's brewing, it would merely create an unusable mess. Making a mistake with a potion can cause explosions, toxic gasses, or other undesirable effects." Severus had decided to hold off judgment of his childhood rival's offspring. At least until the boy did something stupid.

"So it's more like chemistry," Harry stirred the sauce again and tasted it. "Hmm… Needs more garlic, but Mom'd have a fit. She doesn't like garlic all that much." He sat a lid on the pan and adjusted the heat again. He then dug into the fridge and began chopping vegetables for a salad.

"You're quite certain you don't need assistance?" Dumbledore asked again, when he saw the large chef's knife Harry was using.

"Nope. I've got it. Thanks again, though. What about the rest of the school? You said it's in a castle." Harry set the knife down and tossed the lettuce into a bowl. "Oh, are y'all allergic to anythin'? Dave's allergic to carrots, so we don't have 'em very often."

"Not that I know of," Albus replied. Severus merely shook his head. "Hogwarts is indeed a castle. It was built just over a thousand years ago by the four founders of the school: Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin."

"I s'pose I can understand that. I mean, that was back during the Crusades and the Dark Ages, right?" Harry set to chopping some celery and green pepper. He paused to check the noodles. They were just about done, so Harry waited by the pot until they finished cooking. He dumped them into a waiting sieve in the sink and ran cold water over them to keep them from sticking together.

"Quite right, Harry. They felt it prudent to gather the magical people into secluded areas, where it would be less likely they would become targets of the witch hunts."

Harry dumped the noodles back into the pot for the time being and checked the sauce. It was almost done, too, so he put the garlic bread into the oven to toast. "Is it haunted?" Harry asked. In all the books he'd read, castles were _always_ haunted.

"Yes, we do have quite a number of ghosts, and a poltergeist as well. The five that interact the most with the students are Professor Binns – he teaches History of Magic – and the house ghosts."

"House ghosts?" Harry asked, adding mushrooms and olives to the salad.

"Yes, the students of Hogwarts are divided into four houses, named for the four founders. Each house has a representative ghost. The Ravenclaw ghost is the Grey Lady, the Fat Friar represents Hufflepuff, the Bloody Baron is Slytherin's house ghost, and Gryffindor's ghost is Sir Nicolas."

"Cool," Harry replied and turned the fire off under the sauce. He quickly transferred everything to serving bowls, except for the salad, which was already in a serving bowl, and pulled the garlic toast from the oven. He sliced it and sat it on a tray. "Since there's six of us, I don't think we'll be eatin' in here tonight," he nodded towards the breakfast table. "The dinin' room's through that doorway," he pointed. "I could use a hand gettin' this there."

Albus smiled, "Certainly," and levitated the bowls and the tray with the toast on it. Harry smiled brightly at the hovering bowls and pulled a stack of plates out of the cupboard. "Silverware's in that drawer there," he nodded towards a stack of drawers near the stove. "The top one."

"Severus?" Snape nodded and retrieved the silverware from the drawer while Harry added salad plates and a stack of glasses to the dinner plates he had already retrieved. He then led the way to the formal dining room. The Brewers didn't often use the room, the kitchen table was large enough for their daily needs. However, Harry had always liked the room. The table alone was big enough to seat a dozen or more people, and Harry had been reprimanded several times when he was little for using it as a drag strip for his toy cars. They were just finishing setting the table when Aurilia, Jim, and Dave returned.

"Mmm… That's got to be dinner I smell," Aurilia called out. "We'll be in in a minute, we just need to get dried off." True to her word, the three of them appeared in the doorway a couple of minutes later, slightly damp. Aurilia was carrying Cyrus; she'd had him in a backpack carrier while helping Jim and Dave. The carrier was designed to be weatherproof, and Cy didn't much like being left alone with the two visitors, so Aurilia had taken him with her. She sat him down in the high chair that Jim had carried in from the kitchen and Harry handed her the toddler plate.

Dave was carrying the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge, and had a couple of bottles of beer tucked into his elbow. He sat one of the bottles in front of Jim's place, and the other in front of his own. "Did either of y'all want a beer with supper?" he asked the wizards. They both shook their heads.

Through dinner, the headmaster answered several questions from Jim and Aurilia – most of them similar to what Harry had already asked – while Harry and Dave chatted. Severus remained quiet, listening to both of the conversations.

"Kenny got his cooking badge this week, made barbecued pork for everyone," Harry said, twirling spaghetti onto his fork. "It wasn't as good as Rick's, but it was better than I thought he'd do."

Dave chuckled, "That's 'cause Rick smokes his own pork and makes his own sauce. There ain't much a kid _could_ do to compete with that." He speared a chunk of celery from his salad and crunched it. "You've got how many badges now? Fifteen?"

Harry shook his head and swallowed his spaghetti. "Eighteen. Only need two more to make Eagle Scout."

Dave let out a low whistle, "Damn, kiddo, I was _sixteen_ 'fore I managed that. Jim, on the other hand, never made it that far. Pop died the summer he turned eighteen and became ineligible." Taking a drink of his beer, he changed the subject. "'Bout Pokeweed, though. You said she's bankin' slow?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. An' driftin' off to the left. Pretty sure it's the tail-cable, but I did clip the side of the hangar last week. May've knocked a wing out of alignment."

"We'll check it after the horses are seen to tomorrow. Oh, that reminds me, we need to pick up some rat-poison."

Harry shook his head and reached for his glass of iced tea, "No, ya don't. I saw a snake up in the hayloft this afternoon."

Dave grimaced, "Wonder how it got up there?"

Harry shrugged, and Severus' eyes – trained throughout the latter half of his life to catch the often-overlooked details of body-language – caught overtones of guilt. "Dunno, probably up the drainpipe on the outside." Severus quirked an eyebrow at the blatant lie, though he doubted that the boy's uncle caught the untruth. Harry changed the subject, "Hey, Mom, I chatted with Toby, an' he said that Chuck's come down with somethin'. Think he said the flu."

Aurilia nodded to indicate she'd heard Harry, "I'll make up something for him in the morning and you can take it over to him." She then went back to her conversation with the headmaster. Jim had turned to help Cyrus with the remainder of his dinner when the headmaster had answered all of Jim's inquiries. Aurilia and Albus were discussing the odd magic that surrounded her property. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen what you're describing."

The headmaster nodded, "Of course, most muggles aren't able to physically see magic, only its effects. You may not have realized the wards were there."

Aurilia chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Is it possible to control real magic without being a wizard?" She hesitated to use 'witch.' She undoubtably had a different connotation with the word than the two wizards in the room.

"I have never heard of such a thing, though it doesn't preclude the possibility. Why do you ask?" Albus finished his spaghetti before moving on to his salad.

"Well… To put it simply, I was raised to follow the Old Ways – a modern interpretation of the ancient pagan religions. Though I tell most folks I'm Wiccan, it's slightly different than what's described in the books from B. Dalton's. My dad's ancestors came from Scotland, back in 1690-something-or-other, and brought it with them." Aurilia finished her meal and pushed the plate away. Cyrus was still working on his, and despite his dad's help, he appeared to be getting more of it _on_ him than _in_ him.

"Hmm…" Albus slowly crunched his way through his salad. "I presume you used a ritual of some sort to bless the house when you moved in?"

Aurilia nodded, "Yes, I did. I renew it every Samhain."

"Would you be averse to describing it for me?"

Aurilia shook her head, "No, but I can go one better. I can show you the Grimoire that's been in dad's family since they came over. It's not the original book, mind you; it's been recopied several times during the centuries, and I know my great-grandmother translated the entire thing into English, and then to the Theban alphabet in 1890. Grandma added some meditation exercises, and Dad added a section on lucid dreaming. Mom was a botanist, though, and added a lengthy chapter on the properties of various plants. Most of the recipes I use at the shop came from there." Aurilia chuckled a little, "Hell, _I'm_ going to have to recopy the entire thing into another book. It's only got about ten blank pages left, and those are rapidly filling with my own recipes. Jim's added a few things his mom taught him – she's half-Cherokee and was raised on a reservation. When I do that, I'll need to edit it, too. There's a lot of useless stuff in there."

Severus' attention perked at the mention of the book, as only a devoted bibliophile's could. "Like what?" he asked.

"Oh, like how to recognize a vampire and what to do if you find one. There's a full twenty or so pages on that alone." Aurilia reached for her glass.

Severus exchanged a glance with Albus. Since they both were accomplished in several mental disciplines, their glance really was meaningful in that it conveyed information, not merely appearing as though it did. They didn't read each other's thoughts, or share telepathy, it was more controlled than the first and less clear than the second. In the milliseconds that their eyes met, flashes of images with emotions connected were projected from both minds, and an agreement was reached. "It appears as though you are done with your supper. Shall we take a look now?"

"Why not?" Aurilia said as she got up from the table. "Honey?" she tapped Jim's shoulder. "You've got Cy, right?"

Jim nodded, "Yep. I heard. Have fun." He smiled at his wife. Dave and Harry looked up from their conversation on the various repairs that needed done when Aurilia, Severus, and Albus excused themselves from the table.

"Guess that means you're doin' the dishes," Harry said to Dave.

Dave sighed, "I s'pose you're right." It was a longstanding rule in the house that whoever cooked dinner was exempt from dish-duty.

Aurilia led the way down the hall to her workroom. She unlocked it with a key she kept on a chain around her neck. "I keep it locked to keep Harry from messing with anything. He's normally pretty good about not getting into what he's not supposed to, but… I remember being his age. I got into my fair share of things I shouldn't've."

"So Harry doesn't come in here at all?" Albus asked.

Aurilia shook her head, "No, he does, but only with me. I've been teaching him the same way that Mom and Dad taught me." She headed to one of the cabinets over her altar, knowing exactly where she was going, even without a light on in the room. "Please close the door. It'll only take me a moment to get some lights on." The other members of the family knew that when Aurilia was in the room with the door closed she wasn't to be disturbed unless it was a real emergency.

Severus closed the door behind him, then withdrew his wand and muttered, "_Lumos_." The room was suddenly bathed in a pale blue glow. Albus also had his wand out, but with the light from Severus', he noticed the candles around the room. He aimed at the chandelier above them and the candles burst into light.

"Nifty," Aurilia grinned. "I hafta say that's a damn sight better than using the step ladder to light those.

"You don't use electrical lighting in here?" Albus asked.

Aurilia shrugged, "I don't know why, but any time I try anything out of the Book," both of the wizards could hear the capital in the word, "where there's electrical stuff, it doesn't _feel_ right. Grandma noted in the Book that she felt the same thing when they converted their house from gas to electricity."

"Most interesting," Albus conjured up a small table and three comfortable-looking chairs. Severus was relieved they weren't the normal armchairs, merely simple wooden chairs, not unlike those in the Hogwarts library.

Aurilia jumped at the sudden appearance of the table and chairs. "Warn me when you do that!" she scolded before setting the book on the table.

"My apologies, ma'am," Albus replied.

Aurilia waived her hand, "Don't worry about it, and my name's Aurilia, not 'ma'am.'"

Severus and Albus sat and pulled the book close. It was old, covered in a middling shade of brown leather, though well-cared for. It was about a foot long, eight inches wide, and four or five inches thick. Albus carefully opened it. The title page consisted of a drawing of a pentacle on a cauldron, with several seven-pointed stars rising above it. Below the image was a title written in a strange scrawl. Albus assumed it to be the Theban alphabet Aurilia had mentioned. He tapped the book with his wand and the letters reformed themselves into English, _Magick Traditions of Our Family_. "What did you just do?" Aurilia asked, concerned.

"Do not worry, Aurilia. It is a temporary translation charm and will not alter your book in any way. Neither Severus nor myself are versed in the Theban alphabet." Albus didn't look up from the book.

"Oh," Aurilia replied and sat back in the chair, watching the two wizards leaf through the tome over the next couple of hours.

_Bide ye the Wiccan laws ye must, in perfect love and perfect trust…_

_Five times' round the circle go, casting about thee thy oils…_

_It is seen, upon occasion, a man of stature, rich in physicality yet cold in his emotions…_

_Angelica, when bound with cords of white, though not by silk of any shade, and placed above both windows and doors, will ward off unwelcome spirits…_

_The purpose of meditation is to clear one's mind, so when examining a specific problem, outside distractions, as well as stray thoughts, will not interfere…_

Two parts chamomile and one part peppermint, steeped for fifteen to twenty minutes… 

Albus and Severus managed to read through the majority of the book, though they skipped several sections. Aurilia had fallen asleep at some point; the two men hadn't noticed until they looked up, having reached the last entry. Parts of the book read like journal entries, parts of it like a textbook, and others like recipes. "This is remarkable," Albus whispered.

"I know, Albus. There's more here about the traditional holidays _alone_ than most of the pureblood families currently practice. If I were asked my honest opinion on the book, without knowing where it came from, I would assume it was a Traditions Log of either the Malfoys, Parkinsons, or the Blacks." They were the three oldest pureblooded families in Britain.

"I concur, Severus. I would not be surprised at all if Mrs. Brewer's lineage included several squibs, or even a wizard or two." Albus yawned and checked his watch. It was nearing midnight. "We will definitely need to read this in more detail tomorrow or the next day."

Severus nodded, "Yes, we shall."

Albus leaned over and shook Aurilia, "Mrs. Brewer?"

Aurilia woke slowly, blinking several times and yawning. "What time is it?"

"Near midnight."

She stretched and stood up, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Albus smiled at her, "We did indeed, though might I suggest we discuss it in more detail tomorrow?"

"Sure," Aurilia stood and popped her back. "Where were you planning on staying?"

"We've a hotel room in Des Moines," Severus replied.

"Nonsense," Aurilia said, knowing that it would be at least an hour-and-a-half drive for the two wizards to return to their hotel. "We've got a guest room, if you don't mind sharing, and if you do, I know Dave won't mind someone staying down in the cottage."

Albus handed Aurilia her book and banished the conjured table and chairs. He whispered something to Severus, who nodded, and suddenly disappeared with a popping noise. "Okay… Now what happened?" Aurilia asked.

"I told Severus to apparate back to the hotel and retrieve our things. I would much prefer to stay here than the hotel." Dumbledore and Snape had, upon arriving in the US, spent two days at a hotel in Des Moines recovering from portkey-lag.

"Oh?" Aurilia put the book back into the cupboard. "Which hotel was it, and what does 'apparate' mean?"

"Oh, it wasn't the hotel," Albus said, the twinkle in his eyes growing mischievous. "It's more that I don't think my heart could take another voyage with Severus driving."

Aurilia laughed, "That bad?"

Dumbledore nodded in mock-seriousness. "I was once told that there is nothing faster than the instantaneous travel of apparation – popping from one location to another, not unlike the teleportation I have read about in muggle fiction – yet I find that statement to be blatantly false when riding in an automobile with my potions' master at the wheel."

Severus re-appeared at that moment. He handed a tiny box to the headmaster. "And now, Mrs. Brewer –"

"Aurilia, please."

"Fine, Aurilia. If you would show us to your guest room?" Albus waived his wand, simultaneously extinguishing the candles and opening the door to the hall.

Someone, _Jim, most likely_, had left the lights on in the hall for them. Aurilia led the two British wizards upstairs. "The bath is through there, and towels are in the closet on the right of the sink," she pointed to the appropriate door. She opened the door to the guest room. "There's just the one bed, but like I said, Dave won't mind if someone sleeps down in the cottage."

"That will be unnecessary," Severus said, using his wand to transfigure the double bed into two identical twin beds. He removed his own trunk from his pocket and resized it, hovering it to the foot of the bed closest to the window, leaving the one closest to the door – and consequently, the bathroom – for Albus.

"I'm jealous," Aurilia said.

"Of what?" Albus asked.

"The number of times I wished I could do something like what you've been doing all evening…" She laughed, "I can see why y'all keep yourselves hidden. If everyone knew, no one that could do what you two can would ever get any rest. And speaking of rest, I'll let the two of you get settled in," she yawned again, "and see about finding my own bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Aurilia," Albus replied as she left the room.

Severus awoke to the sound of faint singing. He checked the time with his wand and groaned. It was only five-thirty. He pulled the pillow over his head and blocked out the sounds coming from the direction of the bathroom. He had noticed that Albus wasn't in the room, and assumed that he was already up for the day. He had discovered, in his first year of teaching, that Albus didn't sleep much – only four or so hours a night. Severus, himself, much preferred seven hours, and even then needed several cups of strong coffee to wake up properly. When his work with experimental potions, or his other duties when the rein of the Dark Lord was at its peak, required that he receive little sleep, he used a plethora of energizing elixirs and coffee to remain alert, and in the day or so following those times, he was never at his best. He had just managed to fall back asleep when someone flicked on the lights to the room, "Up an' at 'em, sir." He recognized the voice as belonging to Harry.

He threw his pillow in the direction of the door and pulled the covers higher over his head, not caring that the boy was potentially a future student. He heard some laughter and retreating footsteps. Severus fell back into the hazy area between sleep and wakefulness only to be roused moments later by an irritatingly cheerful Albus. "Come now, Severus. When in Rome, and all that. It appears mornings come early in this house."

The only thing Severus welcomed about the headmaster at that precise moment was the steaming mug of coffee held just out of his reach. "So it would seem," he grumbled before seizing the cup as though it were a life-preserver and he a drowning man.

"I'll leave you to getting yourself together, then," Albus smiled at Severus and disappeared out the door, humming softly to himself.

"Blasted old man," Severus murmured into his mug. The coffee was even stronger than he usually made, and he could tell it had been boiled in a percolator, rather than ran through a drip. The bitterness of the black brew had a distinct nutty undertone. _Mmm… Good coffee… Brazilian? No, not tangy enough. Likely Turkish. Tastes about right…_ When the mug was drained, he set about getting dressed. The storm had passed quickly the night before, and when he glanced out the window, the sky was clear, a glow on the eastern horizon.

By the time he was done dressing, the smells of breakfast were coming up the stairs. Severus could detect sausage and fried potatoes and something baked, though he wasn't sure what it was. He followed his nose to the kitchen to find Albus and Aurilia sitting at the kitchen table, the baby in his high chair, painting syrup across the tray. The three mostly-empty plates indicated that Jim, Dave, and Harry had already finished and were now elsewhere. "Good morning, Severus." Albus greeted him.

Snape, still not fully awake, spotted a battered steel percolator on the stove. He refilled his mug and breathed the steam in, _It's strong enough… I'd be surprised if the steam wasn't caffeinated._ "Not too talkative, are you?" Aurilia observed.

"Severus, alas, is not much of a morning person." Severus didn't even need to look up from his mug to know the twinkle in Albus' eyes was going full-force.

"There's plenty for breakfast. Sausage, hashbrowns, and cornbread. Jam and butter for the cornbread, or honey and syrup, if you'd rather." Severus grimaced a little, the mere thought of food so early in the day slightly nauseating.

"Harry has agreed to take us around the edge of the property, so we may be able to examine the wards in a bit more detail," Albus said, spreading a bit more honey on a slice of bright yellow cake. Severus assumed it to be the cornbread.

"Mmm." He slowly sipped the coffee, waiting for the caffeine to kick in. By the time he finished his third mug, he was much more alert, though still rather irritated at having to be up so early. He was even alert enough to have some breakfast. The sausages were good, though the fried potatoes needed some tomatoes and peppers in his opinion. He didn't bother with the cornbread, never having been one for cakes or sweets of any kind.

"Breakfast and dinner are the two main meals around here," Aurilia was telling the headmaster while she washed up the breakfast dishes. "Breakfast, as you saw, is normally served right around five-thirty. Dinner is between six and seven. If you need lunch, you're pretty much on your own. I only eat once a day, and the boys are usually too busy to grab much more than a sandwich or some fruit. You're welcome to help yourself to anything in the cupboards or the fridge, though the top shelf, on the left, is reserved for what I'll be making for dinner."

"Understood," Albus replied.

"Harry will be back in shortly – his chores are a little different than what Jim and Dave do. He's in 4H – that's sort of a horticulture club – and tends his projects for them first. One of them is a cow, who needs milked twice a day. I'm actually quite looking forward to this fall when we'll butcher the calf… I haven't had veal in far too long. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. 4H. Harry's also got a bunch of guinea pigs and a goat. Luckily, this year he consented to do a project on horses, rather than some other animal. He had been talking about getting some ducks or chickens." Aurilia shuddered melodramatically, "I wanted a horse ranch, not a farm."

Almost as though talking about him had summoned him, Harry appeared in the doorway to the back yard. He pulled off a muddy pair of boots and crossed over to the sink, setting a heavy metal pail on the counter. "Morning, all." He poured the milk from the pail into a couple of pitchers before setting them in the fridge and turning to his mom. "You said you'd fix up somethin' for Chuck."

Aurilia nodded, "And I will, but not until later. You got your chores for this morning done?"

"Yeah, and Dave said we'd work on Pokeweed this afternoon. The storm tore up a patch of shingles on the stable. He an' Dad are fixing it now."

"What's wrong with your plane?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothin' major, just handlin' a little off. Think one of the cables are loose."

Aurilia finished up the last of the dishes and began putting them away. "When you take these two around later, I want you to take the .22 with you." Harry blinked, he hadn't thought his mom was all that happy with Dave and his dad when they had started taking him hunting the previous fall. "There've been some articles in the paper about some cougar sightings down in Thousand Acres." Thousand Acres was the name of the private wildlife preserve that shared a boarder with the Brewer lands.

Harry nodded, "Sure thing, Mom. Is the party still on for today?"

It was July fourth, Independence Day. Aurilia sighed, she'd almost forgotten about the yearly party they held. It had actually grown rather large over the past few years, and included the Simpsons, the Penbrokes, the Brewers, as well as assorted friends of all three families. "Damn… I'd almost forgotten about that."

"Pardon, but what party?" Albus asked.

"We have a forth-of-July party every year." Harry replied, grinning. "It looks like Mom spaced it."

Aurilia huffed and playfully hit Harry's shoulder, "I didn't _space _it. I just didn't realize it was _today_." She hurried over to the cluttered corner that held the C.B. and retrieved a notepad. She sat at the table, going over her list. "Rick's bringing his barbecued pork, Amy's bringing cupcakes. Sarah said she'd bring something, chips probably. Josh and his wife aren't coming; he's found a job out-of-state. Alan's bringing a side of beef, so we'll need to get the barbecue pit fired up, and Julia's bringing ice-cream." She looked up at Harry, "Were A.J.'s sisters going to come?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. Lucy's bringin' her fiancé… I think his name's Brett. Dunno if they're bringin' food, too, though. Danielle has to work tomorrow mornin', so she probably ain't gonna stay late."

Aurilia nodded and continued down her list of people. "I know Rick and Amy already made their trip to Missouri for the fireworks. Better let Dave know to get the platform for them set up." She sighed and absently began washing syrup off of Cyrus while muttering about everything that still needed done. "Hell, most of this should have been done _yesterday_, but we got side-tracked…"

Albus chuckled at the obviously frazzled woman, "Aurilia, we would be happy to assist you. Just tell us what needs to be done." Harry squashed the urge to grin at Snape's obvious irritation at being volunteered without his consent.

Aurilia looked up from Cyrus, "You'll help?" she asked, relief pouring off of her.

"Certainly, my girl." Albus smiled benignly. "Since we were, inadvertently, the cause of your forgetting to do what you needed to yesterday, it would only be fair to assist you this morning."

"Sir," Severus interjected, "the wards?"

"Oh, posh, Severus. The wards have likely been here for years. They can wait until tomorrow."

So, with the help of Severus and Albus, three hours later, the preparations for the party were complete: a row of card-tables along the side of the house were set up, covered in red-and-white and blue-and-white checkered tablecloths, just waiting for the addition of the food everyone else was bringing; dozens of lawn chairs were unfolded and scattered about in groups of threes and fours; two large plastic Port-a-Potties that had been delivered the previous week were moved from the garage to an unobtrusive spot behind some bushes; barrels for trash were placed in several places where people were likely to need them; streamers of red, white, and blue were strung from trees, bushes, and buildings; and the fire for the barbecue pit was lit. Albus had also placed several little signs that told people where to find the Port-a-Potties, much to Aurilia and Harry's amusement – they'd been in the same place for the last three years. The remainder of the morning was spent in making their own contributions to what promised to be a spectacular feast.

Jim made his deviled eggs, and Dave the potato salad – just like they did every year – and they had both been as surprised as Aurilia had been when the date had been pointed out to them. Even Albus made a contribution to the food – a large, thickly-frosted marble cake, decorated in red, white, and blue. Though he may have been British, he did understand the significance of July fourth to the Americans.

Since the kitchen was rather crowded, and Harry knew he'd just get underfoot, he spent the morning playing with Cyrus in the living room. He would have much rather watched Albus making the cake – the old man was using his wand as often as any of the kitchen utensils – but he knew he would have the chance to see magic in more detail when everyone wasn't so harried. To his surprise, Severus was also banished to the living room, though the man was obviously relieved rather than perturbed. "Do you do this every year?" he asked.

Harry nodded, "Yes, sir. We do, and have for as long as I can remember, though it gets bigger every year."

Snape shook his head, "I don't think I would be able to… _every year_… How many people came last year?"

Harry shrugged, "I'm not sure. About a hundred or so. Most folks only drop by for an hour or two at a time, though. I think it has something to do with the free food." He smiled at the teacher.

Severus took a seat in one of the arm chairs and silently watched as the child of his own childhood arch-rival played with the toddler. It suddenly struck him that though the boy looked almost like a carbon-copy of James Potter, he had Lily Evan's eyes. So did the toddler. "Potter?"

Harry looked up, a strange half-smile on his face. "Sir, my name's Harry. Harry _Brewer_. Not 'Potter.' I know that was _technically_ my name for a long time, but I never used it. I went by Westlake until Mom married Dad." Cyrus, for his part, was content to go back to chewing on a plastic ring and babbling incoherently at several small toy animals.

Severus nodded, "My apologies, Pot– _Brewer_."

Harry kissed his brother on his blonde hair and stood up. He knew that this was probably going to be the best time to ask a couple of questions he had, and he further _knew_ that if he asked while Dumbledore was around, his answers were likely to be rather different – not _wrong_, just not the _full_ _truth_, either. "Sir?" Severus pulled his attention back from the toddler on the floor. "Why's it harder for you to remember my name than it is for Mr. Dumbledore?"

"_Professor_ Dumbledore," Snape automatically corrected.

"Sorry. But… why?"

Severus sighed. He hated having to answer questions like that; questions that led to him having to admit to some failing on his part. "You look remarkably like your father. I went to Hogwarts with him, and we… didn't get along."

Harry smiled a little and sat on the sofa, not far from where Snape sat. He'd always been a little curious about his biological family. "Why not?" he asked.

Severus shook his head, "I don't believe I am the right one to be asking, Brewer."

Harry snickered, "Why not? He's dead, and you're the only one left that I know that c'n answer the question."

Cornered by Harry's logic, Severus took a deep breath. "Your father was a self-centered, egotistical prat while in school, Brewer. He and his friends delighted in causing mayhem wherever they happened to be. Merlin, they even dubbed themselves 'the Marauders.'"

For the first time since meeting the man, Harry's ability to read people was working on Snape. The emotions he felt, though, were rather confusing. It was a near-perfect balance of hatred, guilt, nostalgia, longing, and anger. He knew that none of the emotions were aimed at him, though. "What about my biological mom?" he asked.

"Lily?" the emotions shifted a little in their individual proportions, with guilt, nostalgia, and longing momentarily overriding the hatred and anger. "She was… a powerful witch. She was good at Charms… You have her eyes."

Harry chuckled, "No one knows I've been adopted 'til I tell them, 'cause of my eyes. They all think I'm really Mom's."

"I had noticed," Severus replied dryly. "I understand Aurilia's ancestors came from Scotland, so there is a possibility that both she and Lily share some common ancestor."

Harry nodded, filing the information away to be looked into when he had the chance. He thought it would be really cool if he was related to his mom – however distantly – by blood. "What else can you tell me about them? I've always wondered 'bout who my real parents were, but there never was anyone who could tell me."

Severus realized that though he felt himself to be far from qualified in telling Harry about his family, he was the only one available who would tell the unadorned truth. He knew Albus would want to sugar-coat everything. "They were both Gryffindors, though Lily could have been a Ravenclaw."

"Why do you say that?"

"The Houses of Hogwarts are determined by personality type. Hufflepuffs tend to be loyal and hard-working, Ravenclaws are studious, Gryffindors are brave, and Slytherins are cunning. Your mother was… rather intelligent. She ended up being the top of her class and Head Girl. Your father," he scowled, "was Head Boy, though how he ended up in the position can only be answered by Dumbledore. There were several students," _Myself included,_ he thought, "that had better grades than James Potter and would have been better suited to the position."

Harry could tell that Snape was getting thoroughly tired of the topic, so he asked, "And what house were you in?"

"Slytherin," there was unmistakable pride in Snape's voice.

"So you're cunning?"

Severus smirked, "Yes."

"You also mentioned yesterday that you were a Head-of-House. What's that?"

"I look after Slytherin house," Snape replied, "making sure all preparations for the school year are complete and taking care of any problems that surface during the year."

"And you teach Potions." Harry said. Snape nodded in reply. Harry was quiet for a moment before asking, "Can all wizards talk to snakes?"

Though not a single twitch surfaced, Harry could tell that Severus was surprised. "Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged, "Just curious."

Severus could tell that the boy was more than merely curious. "Can you?"

Harry looked up from where he'd been watching Cy and slowly nodded, "Yeah. I haven't told _anyone_, though. I didn't know 'til yesterday I was a wizard, an' I didn't think it'd be a good idea to let folks know I was hearin' things."

"The ability is called parseltongue. A wizard with the talent is considered a parselmouth," Snape said, still sitting stone-still, though Harry could feel shock rolling off the man in thick waves.

"Why do I get the feeling that this ain't really somethin' I should talk about?"

"It's a very rare ability; in the past fifty years or so, I know of only a single other wizard who could converse with snakes. And you are right, it isn't something that should be discussed. It's considered the mark of a Dark wizard."

"Why?"

"Snakes are seen as evil, and the ability to speak with them denotes some stain on a wizard's magic."

Harry laughed, "That's just plain silly! Snakes ain't evil. No more so than any other animal. True, a lotta snakes tend ta be poisonous, but they help keep down the population of rats and mice and other pests. Just like cats and foxes do, an' _they_ ain't evil."

Severus wondered momentarily if Harry's attitude might not land him in Slytherin. He almost smirked the mental image he had of the wizarding world panicking at learning that their Boy-Who-Lived had been sorted to Slytherin. During his musing, Harry met Snape's gaze and was bombarded with the same pictures Severus saw, overlaid with a thick layer of amusement. Severus noticed the mental intrusion and slammed his occlumency barriers back into place. Harry was blinking and shaking his head as though to dislodge the images, "What was _that_?"

Severus' gaze narrowed to examine the boy sitting a few feet from him. "How long have you been able to do that?"

Harry removed his glasses and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "I don't know what I did, sir, or whatcha mean."

"Do you often see things when you meet others' eyes?" Severus clarified.

Harry shrugged, "No, not really. I seem to remember doing it once, a long time ago, just after me an' Mom met Dad an' Dave. I was only four or five at the time, though, so it's not really a clear mem'ry."

"What else can you do?" Severus asked, his tone the same as it was when quizzing a class.

"Sometimes, I just _know_ stuff."

"Like what?"

"Well… Like yesterday, when I came into the kitchen, I could tell that whatever reason you and Professor Dumbledore were here for, it was really important an' about _me_. I didn't know why, just that it _was_. An' I can usually tell what people are feelin'. Most of the time, anyway."

_Unconscious, passive legilimency, empathy, and minor divinatory talent,_ Severus' mind listed. _Parseltongue, too._ "Sir?" Harry said after Severus was quiet for several minutes.

"It would appear, Brewer, that you have some rather… unique talents."

"Oh?"

Severus nodded, "The ability to read emotions is called empathy. It can be quite difficult to control, or so I've been told. How clearly do you feel the emotions of others?" he asked.

Harry shrugged, "It's more that I recognize what they're feelin' than feelin' it myself. Like now, you're really curious 'bout me and there's a bit of jealousy…" Harry trailed off and laughed. "I don't think ya got a lot to be jealous 'bout, sir. It don't work all the time, an' when it does, I usually end up wishin' it'd go away."

Severus shook his head in bemusement. "You will need to be taught how to control it, Brewer. And seeing others' thoughts is definitely a talent which will need to be controlled. It's generally bad form to go poking about in another's mind without due cause."

"Oh, is that what I was doing?" Harry said, curiously.

"Yes. It would appear you have a smattering of legilimency talent; something I can do as well. The corresponding talent is called occlumency. Legilimency is the ability to see others' thoughts, and occlumency is the ability to protect your own mind from intrusion. Though wizards can be born with a natural talent in either or both of these areas, it is also a skill that can be learned."

"Kinda like learnin' how to use your off-hand to write with, huh?" Harry said, remembering the time A.J. had broken her arm several years earlier.

"Quite," Severus nodded. "I would assume – "

Whatever Severus was going to say was interrupted by the front door slamming shut and a shriek of "Harry!"

"In the living room," Harry shouted back.

A chubby girl who looked to be either twelve or thirteen, with long, straight brown hair pulled into a pony tail and thick glasses with red plastic frames barreled into the room, clutching a letter. She bounded over to Harry and squeezed him into a hug, "I got in, I got in, I got in!"

Harry laughed and pried the girl off of him, "Got in what, A.J.?"

"Mensa!" she was bouncing on the tips of her feet, "I got the results just now, they came by UPS!" She thrust the letter into Harry's face, "See?"

Harry took the letter and read it quickly, "Cool," he said, giving the girl another hug. "I knew you could! Didn't I tell ya so?"

The girl beamed, "You did, but I was _so_ worried I didn't do well enough… Or that Mom and Dad not lettin' me be skipped ahead was gonna change things." She suddenly noticed Snape sitting a few feet away. "Who're you?"

"This is Severus Snape; he's here for a couple of days along with another guy by the name of Albus Dumbledore," Harry answered, "Professor Snape, this is my best friend, A.J. Penbroke."

A.J. offered her hand, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Snape."

"Likewise," the professor replied. "You do keep some… interesting company, Brewer," he said to Harry before excusing himself, no doubt to warn the headmaster about the appearance of Harry's friend.

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**A/N2:** Thanks, everyone, for reading, and thanks for the wonderful reviews - after all, if it weren't for feedback, I doubt I ever would have agreed to post this silly little story. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** I'd reply directly to the reviewer, but it wasn't a signed review, so I'm going to do so here… Sorry if this irritates anyone. **Web** – I, too, am an Iowan. Most folks 'round my neck of the woods talk mostly like Harry. The only thing dif'rent is that we tend not ta use 'y'all' all 'at much. Somethin' 'bout Harry that ain't been brought up yet (I'll get ta it in plot come his first year at Hogwarts) is that Harry's a 'mimic'. He talks like folks who he spends a lotta time 'round; mainly Jim an' Dave. I dunno iffen I mentioned it, but the Brewer brothers grew up in Oklahoma. Rural Oklahoma. Rural _southern_ Oklahoma. So… Harry's accent ain't quite an Iowan accent, but it ain't quite Okie, either. It's blended. Sorry iffen it's been confusin' so far.

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**Chapter Nine: Seeing Things Most Don't  
**

Severus had never really enjoyed parties; anyone who knew him could say with certainty that the professor seemed to equate frivolous festivity with the torture most felt was solely the domain of the dentist's office. However, despite the hot and humid atmosphere that dominated any July day in Iowa, the day wasn't quite as horrid as he had been believing it would be… perhaps it _had_ been a good idea to cast a cooling charm on his clothes.

At about the same time Harry had flown off in his airplane, a steady traffic of people began arriving. Severus took the chance to claim a shady spot in the recesses of the front porch, one of the few localities which didn't have much in the way of seating. A.J.'s family – her mother, father, and her sister, Danielle – were the first to arrive, followed shortly thereafter by the Simpsons. Within an hour, Severus had counted nearly a hundred and fifty guests. He knew not all of them could possibly have originated in the small town across the river, a supposition which was further borne out by overheard snippets of conversation wherein so-and-so would ask about thus-and-such's neighbor, something completely unnecessary in Marysville.

The Simpson woman – Severus was pretty sure her name was Amy – had put together some activities to pass the time. Merely watching the watermelon-eating contest was enough to make Snape feel rather queasy. It didn't help that Albus won. He laughingly took the prize, a one-pound bar of Hershey's finest, whilst picking seeds out of his long beard.

A group of children too young to be Hogwarts-age, yet old enough to entertain themselves were playing a game not far from the porch. Severus found himself intrigued – he hadn't seen this game before. There were… Snape counted… six children on each team, marked as such by either red or blue bandanas. Each was 'armed' with a water pistol and carried small, plastic things… _What are those? Oh, yeah. I recall now. Radios. The kind that one can communicate through._ The object of the game was for one side or the other to take over the 'base' of the opposing team. The blue team had split its force precisely in half, sending three off to scout and keeping three guarding the lilac bush. The red team had two children guarding the large, cylindrical, white tank while four scouts snuck about. In fact, one of the scouts for the red team had crept into the shadows of the porch, grinning at Snape. He tip-toed to the rail, and peered cautiously through it. "Mikey? You there?"

"Yeah, Tim," the voice on the radio was quiet, though tinged with static.

"I'm on the porch. They gots three standin' 'round the bush. Where you at?"

"In the walnut tree. John's down by the driveway, an' Casey's tryin' ta climb that pine tree by the garage."

"Anyone seen Chris, Eddie, or Sue?"

Suddenly there was a crackle of static and a new voice cut into the conversation, "Aaack! I been hit! Sue's in the tree! Sue's in the tree!"

The first radio voice asked, "Kilt?"

"No, got my leg."

Before Tim could reply, the radio crackled again, "Who's out there? This is a private channel! Over." A low hum became audible.

Snape quickly put two and two together and held his hand out, a 'do-not-irritate-me-into-assigning-detention' scowl in place. He was heartened to see it worked as well on an eight year-old muggle as it did on his students. The boy handed the plastic walkie-talkie over. "How do you work this blasted thing?" he muttered as static sounded from the box once more, overlapping childish voices proclaiming their names.

Tim gestured to the large button on the side, "Push that and hold it down when ya talk, an' let go when you're done."

"Harry?" he questioned, following the child's advice.

"Who else?" was the sarcastic reply, "This Professor Snape? Over."

"Indeed."

"At least someone's listenin' in. Couldja find Dad or Uncle Dave for me an' tell 'em that someone's got their Dodge parked in my way? Looks like it's Doc VanderSchlusse's Ram. Over."

"Certainly," Snape replied.

"Oh, one more thing, professor. It's easier to tell when you're done talkin' iffen ya say 'over' at the end, sir. Over."

"You know Mr. Brewer?" Snape looked at the boy standing in front of him.

"Yeah."

Handing the walkie-talkie back to the boy, Snape ordered, "Run this to him."

The boy nodded and hurried off the porch. Just as he passed out of hearing range, Severus could hear the child chattering away on the radio, "Heya Harry. This is Tim K. from Scouts. That guy you was talkin' ta told me ta take the walkie-talkie ta your dad. Didja hear that I finally got my badge for ropes…"

Once the issue of the pickup truck parked in the wrong spot had been resolved, the remainder of the day passed in a haze of food, people, and fun. Oddly, despite the large numbers of people present, Severus was enjoying watching from his nearly-hidden vantage point on the porch.

At around half-past six, Jim and Dave pushed the piano out onto the porch. Harry, alternating with Sarah, played lively dance music with the accompaniment of Dave on his guitar, Jim on a fiddle, and Alan – A.J.'s dad – on a set of drums he'd brought with him. Another of the guests, one of the Penbrokes' friends, had brought along a saxophone, and Lucy turned out to have a beautiful singing voice.

When the sun finally set, the crowd was treated to a lengthy amateur fireworks display. Severus had forgotten how much he liked muggle fireworks over the wizarding variety; they were simpler, and there was no need to duck flying representations of dragons or hope that the charms on the Catherine wheels held.

The last of the guests finally went home at near three in the morning. Harry and A.J. had long since fallen asleep leaning on a log bench around a campfire pit that had been started to roast marshmallows and make s'mores. Alan and Julia said that A.J. could stay the night – she'd arrived on her bike, and they didn't have room to take it home just then, anyway.

Severus was dearly wishing he could go to sleep as well, but ended up helping the Brewers and the headmaster clean, instead. The cleaning up only took about thirty minutes, since all the trash was banished and the chairs and tables were quickly folded down and put back in their storage area in the basement. Albus leaned down to wake the children by the fire, but Jim stopped him from waking them. "Let 'em sleep, Albus. It ain't the first time either of 'em have slept outside, an it ain't gonna be the last, neither." Aurilia then appeared with a couple of old quilts and covered both kids.

Two days after the party – as July fifth had been cloudy and rainy all day – Harry hurried through his morning chores. He was saddling up three horses, as trying to walk the perimeter of the acreage would take all day. Harry would be riding Kudzu, and he'd selected two of the more mild-mannered horses for Dumbledore and Snape. Pipsissewa, commonly referred to as merely 'Pippi,' was one of the first-generation crosses between the mustang mares and Kudzu. She was nearly identical in coloration to Kudzu, a dark russet brown, and very intelligent. She didn't spook easily, and for that reason, Jim had trained her to go hunting with them. The other was Tansy, another of the first-generation crosses, though he had been gelded because his coloration was sporadic; he was mostly russet brown, but had large splotches of white on his neck and body. He had a similar temperament to Pippi, though he wasn't quite as tolerant of loud noises as his sister.

"Harry!" A.J.'s voice called out from near the driveway. Harry checked his watch. It was only seven-thirty. _Wonder why she's here so early…_

"Over here!" he replied, putting the hoof-pick down and instructing Pippi to stand still while he threw the saddle-blanket across her back.

"Goin' ridin'?" A.J. asked.

"Nope, just thought I'd see if I could saddle all the horses just to see how long it took." Harry replied sarcastically.

A.J. chuckled. "I deserved that. Mom an' Dad are gonna be off with Lucy this week, visitin' with Brett's family in Florida. Danielle's stayin' with Sheila an' I was wonderin' if I could stay with you guys. You know I don't really get along with my cousins all that well."

Harry nodded, "I know. Sheila ain't the nicest person… But I dunno if you can, not this week, A.J." Harry was thinking of his other guests. "You'd hafta ask Mom."

A.J. shrugged, "Mom an' Dad already did, at the party, an' they said she said it wasn't a problem. Though they did mention somethin' about me stayin' on the couch…"

"Yeah, we've got a couple of other guests for a while. Dunno know how long they're stayin' for." Harry picked up the saddle and began cinching it into place.

A.J. was uncharacteristically silent for a few minutes. When Harry glanced up from the saddle, he saw she was in what he mentally labeled her 'thinking' pose, arms crossed over her chest and sucking on a lock of hair. "'Sup?" he asked.

She spit out the hair and nodded to herself, as though coming to a decision. "I know about you, Harry," she said.

"Of course you do. We been friends for years."

She shook her head, "That's not what I mean," she said. "I mean, I know about you bein' a wizard."

Had Harry been holding anything at that moment, he would have dropped it. "How do you know that? Since when?"

"Since last night," she replied. "We went to Nana's for dinner, and I told her about those men you've got stayin' with you, an' she took me aside and we talked for a while. Nana's a witch, so's Danielle. Dad doesn't have magic, neither does Mom. Nana told me about how it skips around in our family. She also told me that I could prob'ly be a witch, too, but she wasn't sure, 'cause I've never done anything to show any magic."

"How come she ain't told you nothin' 'bout this before now? An' why didn't you tell me?"

"I dunno why she never said nothin' 'bout you before, coulda been she didn't know you were the same Harry. An' 'bout me not tellin ya 'bout Dani and Nana… Well, there's all these laws 'bout who I could talk to 'bout it. Anyway, Nana recognized the name Dumbledore when I told her. Said he was some sort of official in the magic world. She asked me about you, if your name was ever 'Potter.' Seems you're kinda famous in the magic world." A.J. grinned at him. "She said you managed to kill some freaky evil wizard when you were a baby."

Harry chuckled nervously, "I'm beginning to wonder just how many people know about that…"

A.J. shrugged, "Probably ev'ryone in the magic world. Nana also told me that if Dumbledore was here, it was 'cause you'd be goin' to some school in Britain. That true?"

Harry shrugged, "I hadn't decided if I wanna go or not." Though he was a little uneasy about people he didn't know knowing about what happened to him when he was a baby when he couldn't remember the incident himself, he was extremely relieved that A.J. knew about the magical world. He wouldn't have to lie to her. "Did you wanna come with me today? I'm s'posed to take Snape an' Dumbledore 'round the edges of the property. Apparently, there's these ward-things here that they wanna learn more 'bout."

"Sure. Who should I saddle up?"

Harry thought for a moment, "How about Dusky?" Dusky was one of the mustangs, Pippi's and Tansy's mother, to be precise.

"Okies," A.J. bounced into the stable and soon reappeared, leading a light brown-and-white spotted mustang. She went through the process of cleaning her hooves and saddling her while Harry hurried up to the house to inform Dumbledore and Snape that he was ready to go.

On their way out the door, Aurilia handed Harry a backpack containing a first-aid kit and some snacks for later, along with some miscellaneous other sundries. Back at the stable yard, Harry transferred the items to a set of saddlebags. He also slid his rifle into a special carrier to the side of the saddle. Taking the lead-ropes for Tansy and Pippi, he lead the horses over to where Snape and Dumbledore were standing by the gate. "Either of y'all ever been ridin' before?" he asked.

Dumbledore smiled, "Yes, I have, though not for many years."

"You'll be ridin' Tansy, sir," Harry handed Dumbledore the reins, "Give a holler if he's any trouble." He turned to Severus.

Snape was looking at the horses with some trepidation. The last time he had been on a horse had been when he was fifteen and had spent part of the summer with Lucius Malfoy. He had ended up being thrown and spending that night painfully regrowing several bones because he had shattered his right arm in the fall. Harry could feel the anxiety coming from Snape. For the first time in his life, Harry consciously tried to send an emotion, rather than just receive them. He laced his words with calm, aimed at the potions master. "You'll be on Pipsissewa, though we call her Pippi for short." Addressing both of the men, he said, "Now, we'll be goin' round some trails that go through forest, so you'll wanna keep an eye out for low branches. None of the horses are all that tender-mouthed, so to turn, you pull the reign on the side that's the direction you wanna go. Remember to grip with your knees, and you'll be a lot less sore if you relax and move _with_ the horse." With that, Harry headed back to Kudzu, A.J., and Dusky. A.J. had finished saddling Dusky and pulled herself into the saddle.

She leveled a challenging look at Harry, "Race ya to the house," she said, grinning.

Harry returned the grin and signaled Kudzu into a full gallop. Severus and Albus watched as the two children raced their horses across the stable yard, jumping the low fence, and up the hill to the house. Severus suppressed a shudder. He'd been thrown attempting a similar maneuver. Albus caught Severus' eyes, "Shall we?"

"If I must," he replied and pulled himself into the saddle. Albus followed suit and the two of them shortly joined A.J. and Harry at the house. While approaching, A.J. heard Snape tell Dumbledore, "…must protest the addition of Miss Penbroke. She is a muggle, sir, and I doubt her addition to this foray would be beneficial."

A.J. laughed. "Mr. Snape, sir?" Severus looked her way. "My Nana's a witch, an' my older sis is, too, so whatever you're gonna be doin' isn't gonna cause problems with any of the Secrecy laws."

"And what of you, child?" Albus asked, expertly sidling Tansy up beside Dusky.

A.J. shrugged, "We don't know if I am or not. It skips around in my family. Though Nana an' Danielle have magic, neither of my parents do, or my oldest sister, Lucy."

Harry started to lead the quartet of horses around the house while A.J. spoke with Dumbledore. "Have you ever made something strange happen while upset or angry?" Albus asked.

A.J. shook her head, "Not that I know of, but I don't really get mad. The maddest I ever was… was when Harry started makin' friends with the guys in his Scout troop, an' that wasn't really _mad_. I was more scared that since he was makin' other friends, he wasn't gonna be _my_ friend anymore."

"What of when you were frightened?" Albus queried.

A.J. shrugged, "I don't know. There might have been somethin' last summer… but I dunno if it was me that did it or not."

"Tell me about it, please."

"Well… it was in June, the day of Lucy's graduation. We were all at the school, watchin' the ceremony, when clouds started to gather up. We went inside an' a little while later, there was a tornado warnin'. We hurried into the locker rooms connected to the gym – those were the nearest places without any windows – and waited. I remember that it was really dark in there, no one had turned on any lights. It was really crowded, too. Lots of people. Then there was this roarin' noise, and the room started to shake a bit, like an earthquake. I was so scared… I'd heard that noise before, a couple of years earlier, when I was at my cousin's place, and a tornado had come an' leveled their barn. As the noise got louder, I got more an' more frightened. Somethin' happened, though, an' it stopped all of a sudden."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I felt all weird and stretched and kinda sick. When the tornado went away, though, I got a really bad headache and slept for the rest of the day. Dad told me when I woke up that we were really lucky, 'cause it stopped only a couple hundred yards from the school."

Harry had stopped and was looking at A.J. "That was you?" he asked, remembering the incident with more detail than he cared to recall.

"That was me what?"

"I… I felt the same thing during that day, but I could feel somethin' similar comin' from somewhere else. That was _you_?"

Albus smiled at both of the children, Severus could tell he had something up his sleeve. "There is a rather simple method to see if you are a witch, A.J."

"How?" A.J. asked.

Albus removed his wand from his sleeve – today the headmaster was wearing a green-and-blue checkered flannel shirt and a pair of blue jeans. "Simply tell me if you see anything," he replied and flicked his wand, saying something under his breath. A stately, glowing white bird flew out the end of the wand and circled around the four of them before perching on the pommel of Albus' saddle and disappearing.

"What kind of bird is that?" A.J. asked.

Albus chuckled, "A phoenix, A.J. That settles whether or not you are a witch. Muggles are unable to see a patronus."

A.J. grinned almost as widely as when she had arrived with her letter about Mensa. "Really?"

"Really," Albus replied.

A.J. suddenly frowned. "What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I won't get to go to the Southern Iowa Institute until ninth grade."

"Southern Iowa Institute?"

"That's the magic school that Dani goes to."

"Am I to assume you don't begin learning about magic until well into your teens?" Albus asked.

A.J. nodded, "Yeah, but I know that Nana was teaching Dani stuff for a couple of years before she started goin' to the Institute." She brightened, "Maybe she'll do the same for me."

While the four of them rode along the trails, Albus rode next to A.J. "Would you mind telling me more about how your magic schools operate?"

A.J. shrugged, "I don't know a whole lot 'bout it, only what Dani keeps talkin' 'bout."

"Whatever you know would be most interesting," the headmaster urged.

"Well… The Southern Iowa Institute is in Ottumwa. It serves for the south-central portion of Iowa, an' has about a hundred students. It's for ninth through twelfth grades only, and most folks think it's a parochial school – it's even set up in an old Abbey. I don't really know what classes are taught there, but I know Dani signed up for Elemental Summonings and Banishments for next year an' took Illusions last year. Oh, an' she was worried 'bout her Magical Biology grade, but ended up gettin' a B-plus in it.

"The students that don't live in Ottumwa take portkeys to school every day, at least until they're seniors. Then they can either drive or apparate. Dani's in the FMFA and FMHA, that's the Future Magical Farmers of America an' the Future Magical Homemakers of America, as well as keeper on the quidditch team an' president of the student council." A.J. babbled on about what she knew – which, as she admitted, wasn't all that much. About three hours later, the four of them arrived at the furthest corner of the property, where there was a permanent campsite set up. All four dismounted and Severus found himself envying Albus' obvious ease. He was stiff and sore, himself. He waited until everyone was looking elsewhere before downing a vial of painkiller from his pocket.

Albus had conjured some parchment and a never-out quill and was examining the wards, taking notes, while Harry and A.J. had a snack and A.J. explained what she knew of quidditch to Harry. Severus joined the headmaster, and made his own notes on the wards. Suddenly, there was an unearthly shriek and near-simultaneous bellow. It raised gooseflesh on Severus' and Albus' arms. "What was that?" Severus asked.

Harry and A.J.'s conversation had ceased abruptly. "Shh!" A.J. hissed while Harry quickly got to his feet and retrieved the rifle from Kudzu's saddle.

"Stay here," Harry whispered while loading the rifle and toeing off his boots. He disappeared almost completely silently over a low rise in the hill. Ignoring his advice, A.J. followed him. Severus exchanged a concerned glance with the headmaster. Albus cast two quick silencing charms on their feet and followed the children. Severus had his wand out and followed close behind the headmaster.

When he crested the rise in the forested hill, he saw an angry Harry gesturing frantically to a fuming A.J. A.J. rolled her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest, and shook her head. Harry sighed and continued up the next low rise. Just before reaching the top, he dropped to his stomach and wormed his way up to the crest, peeking over a fallen, moss-covered log. He motioned for A.J. to be quiet and join him.

It took only a minute or so for Albus and Severus to join the two children in peering over the log. What Severus saw made his blood run cold. "Guess Mom was right in havin' me come out here with the rifle," Harry whispered so silently that Severus was sure, had he not been right next to the boy, he would not have heard him.

A tawny yellow cat, roughly half again the size of an average wolf, had its jaws clamped around the throat of a buck. The deer's antlers were still covered in a thick brown velvet, and had only four prongs. Harry brought the rifle to his shoulder and peered down the barrel. "You're not gonna shoot it, are you?" A.J. whispered frantically.

"Of course I am. It's a female, an' Thousand Acres has _two_ pair – an' those're all tagged with radio-collars. She ain't tagged. It's kinder to shoot her than let her starve this winter when food runs scarce," Harry whispered back.

A.J. squeezed her eyes shut and plugged her ears. Harry thumbed the safety off on the rifle and aimed carefully before firing twice, sliding the bolt between shots. Both Albus and Severus were hard-pressed not to jump at the flat crack of the gun. Severus turned slightly green as the top of the cat's head peeled back in a bloody-gray spray. Harry got to his feet, "A.J.?" he tapped her on the shoulder. "It's over. Wouldja go get my boots?"

A.J. nodded and started back towards where they'd left the horses. Though she saw the boots coming her way due to Albus' summoning charm, she nodded and continued on to the horses. Harry grabbed his boots just before Albus could and pulled them back on. "Thank you, sir."

"You're quite welcome, Harry," Albus replied.

Harry picked up the shiny brass shell casings from the ground and pocketed them, then turned the safety back to 'safe' and shouldered the rifle. He headed down to the bloody carcasses of the deer and cougar. "What is he doing, Albus?" Severus asked.

Albus shook his head, "I'm not sure."

They got their answer a few moments later when another shot rung out and the body of the deer jerked. Then, they watched as Harry took out a pocket knife and began calmly skinning the cougar. When that was done, he field-dressed the deer, removing all the internal organs through a slit in the deer's stomach. "Could I get a hand, sirs?" Harry called up the hill.

"What did you need, my boy?" Albus asked, walking down the slope.

"I can't carry this by myself, and there's no sense in wastin' the meat."

"Understandable," Albus said and levitated the deer. Harry rolled the cougar-skin up and headed back to the horses. Severus still looked a little green, much to Harry's amusement. _Obviously ain't never been huntin' before, _he thought as he passed the potions master.

After the excitement, the remainder of the day was rather dull. The headmaster cast a couple of charms on the deer to keep it from spoiling and went back to his examination of the wards. When Harry and Albus had disappeared over the hill to the horses, Severus took a couple of minutes reflecting that even after nearly twenty years as a potions master, service to the Dark Lord, and spying on that same Dark Lord, seeing the cat's skull explode outward in a shower of grey and red was absolutely the _most_ nauseating thing he had ever had the misfortune to witness.

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**A/N2:** So I added what was going to be a stand-alone chapter to the beginning of this chapter. At least now both this chapter and the last one are a bit more to my liking. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** I'm coming to the end of this first book. There is one more chapter after this one, and then I'm taking a break from posting for a week. During that week, I'll try to get the omake scene up for you, and then posting will begin on part two of the story arc.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Diagon Alley**

Throughout the remainder of the month of July, Severus made copious notes on the wards surrounding the Brewer lands, while Albus made a copy of Aurilia's grimoire. A.J. spent the week with Harry and his family, and returned home when her parents returned from Florida. A.J. also told her Nana that she was definitely a witch, and her Nana began teaching her some basic spells. Albus arranged for the fireplace in Aurilia's living room to be hooked up to the floo network, with special authorization from the International Confederation of Wizards for it to be one of the few privately-owned international connections. He also gave Aurilia instructions on how to access Diagon Alley for Harry's school needs, and how to contact him at Hogwarts, and gave them a specialized portkey that would work for muggles that would allow Aurilia to drop Harry off at Kings Cross station to catch the Hogwarts Express on September first. Finally, on the twenty-seventh of July, the headmaster deemed it time for both he and Severus to return to Hogwarts.

Aurilia and Dave took Harry to London on the day before his eleventh birthday to purchase his school supplies. Aurilia and Dave both found it extremely disconcerting to go from six o'clock in the morning, spun madly though the floo, only to emerge at precisely noon in a dusty little pub. The bartender, who introduced himself as Tom, opened the archway to Diagon Alley for them. "Lemme see that list, kiddo," Dave said, trying not to gawk at all the strange sights.

Harry, who wasn't even _trying_ not to stare, silently handed over the list that Dumbledore had given him, as well as the list of books that Snape had recommended. Dave read through the list from Dumbledore while handing the other list to Aurilia. Harry had long since had both lists memorized.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY UNIFORM**

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

**COURSE BOOKS**

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk  
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

**OTHER EQUIPMENT**

wand  
cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
set glass or crystal phials  
telescope set  
brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED

THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Snape's list of recommended books wasn't quite the same length as the required items list from Dumbledore, but was close.

Hogwarts: A History by the United History Association of the UK  
Aaurinspores to Zythnikan Bile: The Potions Compendium of Ingredients and Practices by Alma Umyerai  
The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts by Thomas Krisp  
Of Two Worlds: Balancing Muggle and Magic by Lorelai Pierson  
Ensuring Quiet: Occlumency and Other Mental Disciplines by Minnie Reardon  
The Life and Times of Merlin by A. Pendragon  
Feeling it Out: An Empath's Guide by Mercedes Alegre  
Ministry Rules and Regulations in Layman's Terms by Prof. G. A. Ruther  
Gobstones and Exploding Snap: Games Beyond Quidditch by Carl Ponties  
Quidditch Through the Ages by the International Quidditch Association  
Wizarding Customs and Culture by Fiona Malfoy  
Tracing Your Roots: the Wizard's Guide to Genealogy by Juan Pasado

Dumbledore had also let Aurilia know which shops to visit to purchase the various books and other assorted requirements, so the three Iowans first headed towards the large white building at the end of the street. Aurilia knew from Dumbledore's descriptions that the building was Gringotts – the wizard bank. Aurilia needed to transfer some money into wizarding funds and they also needed to see about the vault that Harry's biological parents had left him. Harry was busy staring at what appeared to be a particularly ugly old woman, thinking _I wonder if she's supposed to look like that?_ when Dave's voice startled him out of his musings. "'Enter, stranger, but take heed  
"'Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
"'For those who take, but do not earn,  
"'Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
"'So if you seek beneath our floors  
"'A treasure that was never yours,  
"'Thief, you have been warned, beware  
"'Of finding more than treasure there.' Kinda ominous, if ya ask me."

"I agree," Aurilia replied. Harry didn't say anything; he thought the poem was actually rather catchy and the perfect motto for a bank that no doubt had all sorts of magical safety precautions. He followed his mom and uncle to a sign that said 'Currency Exchanges' and the three waited in line behind a tall, round, older man who walked with a limp and a shorter boy that was probably close to Harry's age. The boy was fidgeting, but the older man clasped the boy's shoulder tightly. "Justin! Stand still, for Christsakes, boy. The stores won't be going anywhere."

Harry was suddenly grateful he'd been raised in Iowa. Who knows who would have been standing with him if he'd not been adopted by his mom? After a lengthy wait, it was finally Aurilia's turn. To Harry's surprise, the teller wasn't one of the strange creatures at the other windows, but a brightly cheerful young woman. "First time to Gringotts?" she asked.

"Yes," Aurilia replied.

"Will you just want a straight currency exchange, or will you be looking to open up an account with us?"

"An exchange for now, though my son's already got a vault here. I was told he inherited it from his biological family."

The girl looked flustered for a moment before she took a deep breath and recited something to herself. Harry thought it sounded like, "One thing at a time, Lissa. One thing at a time." Out loud and to his mom, she asked, "And how much will you be exchanging today?"

"I'm not sure. I need to outfit a Hogwarts first year, and get him a few extras. What would you suggest?"

The girl checked a complicated-looking chart, "Hmm… First year… Hogwarts… Around a hundred galleons ought to cover everything nicely and give your son a bit of spending money for when he gets there. That will be five hundred, twenty-five pounds, please."

Aurilia sighed, "How much in dollars, please? I've not dealt with British money for seven years."

The girl checked another chart, "Nine hundred, forty-six dollars."

Dave let out a low whistle, "Damn," he whispered.

Aurilia merely nodded and handed over ten one-hundred-dollar bills. After a few moments, she received a bag of bronze, copper, and gold coins, along with a receipt and her change. "In order to check on any hereditary vaults, you will want to join that queue over there," she pointed to the proper line. Luckily, it was nearly void of people.

"Thanks," Aurilia said to the girl, then led Dave and Harry to the other line. Their wait was only a couple of minutes and then they were face-to-face with a Gringotts goblin. "Name and business, please."

"Aurilia Brewer, come to inquire about a vault which my son seems to have inherited from his biological parents."

"Have you a key?" the goblin asked, peering over the counter at her.

Aurilia nodded, "Yes, sir. Here," she handed the tiny, golden key to the goblin.

A moment later, the goblin looked up and asked, "Wait here, please."

They waited for a full five minutes before the goblin reappeared. "Follow me, please."

They followed the short, misshapen creature through a series of hallways and doors to a door that had a brass plaque on it which read 'Trust Office.' The goblin opened the door and motioned for them to enter. "Someone will be along shortly," he said and disappeared.

Another wait of several minutes passed, during which Dave muttered, "I hate bureaucracy."

Aurilia snickered, and just managed to stop when yet another door opened to reveal a very wizened goblin. "This way, please." They followed the goblin into a respectable and comfortable office. "Please have a seat. I understand you," he addressed Aurilia, "are Mr. Potter's legal guardian, correct?"

Harry spoke up before Aurilia could, "She's my mom, but my last name's Brewer now, sir."

"Indeed," the goblin replied and began making notations on a long scroll of parchment. "With the deaths of Lily and James Potter, the contents of the Potter family vaults were sealed and sent to this office to be held in trust for Harry until he either came of age or a legal guardian was selected. The key you held was an expense account, meant to provide for Harry's schooling. Since he now has a legal guardian, the entire account may be opened to peruse at your leisure. All you need do is sign this," he snapped his fingers and a thick scroll appeared. He handed it to Aurilia.

"Pardon, but don't you need some sort of identification?"

The goblin's face contorted into what could only be a grin, "There is no need, Mrs. Brewer. We goblins are able to detect untruth through any means. And now, if you would?" he motioned to the scroll.

Aurilia unrolled it and found that it was almost incomprehensible; full of 'parties of the first part' and other legal jargon. "What does all this mean?" she asked.

"Simply that you are indeed Harry's guardian, and are accepting the responsibility of taking over the Potter Trust for him. Your access to the vaults will become restricted as of July 31, 1997 – the day Harry comes of age in the wizarding world. He can, of course, reopen that access once the vaults are transferred to his name. Also, any transactions of more than one thousand galleons will need to be signed for by both you and Harry," the goblin explained.

"What if Harry needs access to an amount more than a thousand galleons and I'm not available?" Aurilia asked, though why Harry would ever need nearly ten thousand dollars was beyond her, she felt it best to ask, if only to assuage her curiosity.

"In that instance, we would attempt to contact you through any means necessary. If you still remained unavailable, and it was dire need, the expense would be audited by the Trust Association, and either approved or denied accordingly."

Aurilia nodded and picked up the quill pen the goblin held out, "Will I be able to get a copy of this?" she asked.

The goblin nodded, "A copy will be made available for you before you leave. Though I understand you already exchanged some money for your purchases today, you may want to see what is available in the vaults – many of our patrons store things other than money with us."

Aurilia signed her name with a flourish, "Will my husband have the same privileges as me?"

"If Harry wishes for him to, just have him sign your copy, and his signature will appear on our copy of the document." Harry signed his name below his mom's and the scroll flashed bright gold before disappearing. "I shall now send for a goblin to take you to the Potter vaults," he clicked his fingers again and they were soon joined by another goblin, "Racknock, please show these people to the Potter vaults."

The other goblin, Racknock, bowed and said, "This way, please."

Aurilia, Dave, and Harry followed the short creature back through the hallways and doors to a room that reminded Dave of the last time he had been to a theme park. "Sit down, please," the goblin motioned to the two rows of seats. When everyone was sitting, the cart took off down a long track. Though Harry tried to count the different turns, they were going so fast, and there were so many of them, that he wasn't able. After several minutes the cart pulled to a stop at the end of a short, dead-end hall. Dave and Harry tumbled out of the cart, laughing. Dave told Harry it was almost as good as a roller coaster, but Aurilia, on the other hand, had never really liked carnival rides. She had to pry her fingers out of the side of the cart. She was white and shaky. It took her a moment to realize that the goblin was speaking again. "There are three primary vaults. The first holds solely the cash funds of the Potter estate, the second is used as a depository of objects of value. The last is used to hold documents pertaining to the estate. Which do you wish to see first?"

Harry shrugged and looked to his mom, when he realized that she wasn't going to be much help, he turned to Dave. "Objects?" Dave offered.

"Why not?" Harry grinned and returned his attention to the goblin. "The objects vault, Mr. Racknock."

The goblin nodded and walked to the door sitting at the exact end of the dead-end hall. He made a complicated-looking gesture with his hands. "Most of the old families like the Potters also have a specific ward over their vaults, limiting access to those with the family blood only. You are allowed to take guests in with you, of course, however, until you request for the ward to be dismantled, no one not of Potter blood will be able to enter the vaults, even to act in your stead." Racknock explained before opening the vault door.

"Is there anything I need to do?" Harry asked. "And is there any way to adjust the ward so Mom, Dad, and Uncle Dave can come here without me?"

"You need not do anything, as long as the guests you bring are within ten feet of you when you enter the vault, the wards will recognize them as your guests. And to alter the ward in the way you described, we will need a drop of blood from all involved parties."

Harry grimaced, he'd never really enjoyed having his blood drawn for any reason. "In that case, go ahead and have it dismantled. I'm sure whatever protections y'all have normally will be enough."

"As you wish, Mr. Brewer." The goblin stepped aside and took a guard position outside the door.

"You comin', Mom?"

Aurilia shook her head, "I don't think so, Harry." Harry had to admit, he'd never seen his mom looking quite so ill before, and that included the time she found a petrified peanut butter and jelly sandwich stuck to the underside of the microwave. Harry still didn't know how it ended up there.

"What about you, Dave?"

"Are you kiddin'? Wouldn't miss it for the world, Hare-bear." Harry scowled at the nickname and headed into the vault. Once he stepped inside, several torches sprung to life along the walls. It looked like a slightly cleaner version of a typical attic, with numerous boxes and trunks piled everywhere. There was a distinct lack of dust, which Harry figured had to have something to do with magic.

"What are we lookin' for, any idea?" Harry asked.

"No clue," Dave replied, then grinned. "Looks like fun."

Harry returned Dave's grin before wandering around the room. He picked a shiny blue trunk at random and opened it, completely missing the initials J.P. engraved into the lock plate. The first thing Harry noticed was that it contained a ladder going down, down much farther than the depth of the trunk. "Hey, Dave! Take a look at this!"

"Whacha find?" Dave hurried over.

"Look at this. Where do you think it goes?"

Dave pulled out the miniature Mag-light he carried on his belt, along with his buck-knife. He twisted the end to turn it on and shone it down the ladder. "Only one way to find out," he said.

Dave went first. When he reached the bottom, he shone the light up to Harry, "It's okay. Some sorta room or somethin'. Come on down."

Harry swung his legs over the side of the trunk and set his feet on the outside of the poles of the ladder. He tugged his sleeves over his hands and slid down the ladder. Dave caught him at the bottom. Taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, he asked, "D'you think we're still in the trunk?"

"No idea, Harry," Dave replied.

The room was set up like a cross between a library and a bedroom, either that or the bedroom of someone with a serious book addiction. The floor and walls were a polished hardwood, and there was a single bed in one corner, complete with gold-and-scarlet covers. The opposite wall was a single large bookcase, containing what had to be hundreds of books. There was a desk built into the wall, too. On the desk was a thick packet of parchment.

_Sirius C. Black or Harry J. Potter_.

Harry's skin prickled with goosebumps when he saw it. "Dave?"

"Hmm?" Dave asked, looking down from where he was inspecting the book titles.

"Does that say what I think it does?"

"Well… It looks like it's either addressed to you or some guy named Sirius Black. Go ahead an' take it, Harry. Let's see what it says."

Harry reached out and seized the packet with a shaking hand. "Can we go back up to read this? It's kinda dark down here." He didn't know why, but he was suddenly afraid that the trunk would close and lock, trapping them in the small, dark room.

"Sure thing, kiddo," Dave handed him the flashlight and quickly climbed up the ladder. Harry was close on his heels.

Once back in the relatively bright atmosphere of the vault itself, Harry cracked open the wax holding the packet closed. A heavy gold ring that had an engraving of a winged lion flying over a crossed wand and sword fell out, along with a single sheet of parchment, folded over several times. Dave picked the ring up from where it fell on the floor while Harry read the letter.

_31July, 1981_

_Sirius,_

If I'm still alive and well, please return my ring and burn this mess of parchment. It just means I was too stupid to clean out my old school trunk after everything died down. If not…

_Merlin, I don't want to write this, but I feel I __have__ to. You know I never did put much stock in divination, right? Even though I keep getting these weird hunches… Like fifth year. Something's telling me that this is a good idea._

_First off, I have to say that you're right, and I'm sorry about your jaw. You really are too obvious to be our Secret Keeper and everyone that was at Hogwarts with us or that has met us since would know in a heartbeat that you'd be our Secret Keeper. And, I know it hurts, but Remus really isn't the best option, either. We just don't know if someone would be able to get the information on the full moon… Lily and I decided to go with Peter as our Secret Keeper. Yeah, I know. Little Peter Pettigrew. Merlin, Sirius, it's a bad idea. I __know__ it is. But, Lily does have a point – no one would suspect us trusting Wormtail with such an important task. Then again, everyone – us included – has always had a tendency to overlook and underestimate him. Isn't that why we let him into the Marauders to begin with? Because no one would suspect him?_

_However, I appear to be getting away from the topic at hand. If you are reading this – because, let's face it, I don't think I'd forget to retrieve the signet-ring – then everything has gone completely balls-up. I hope you and Harry have been happy and that you've brought him up in true Marauder style. Or, if you're reading this and Harry's still little, then please teach him how to have fun. Pranks are never too big, nor too small. After all, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._

_Harry, if you're the one reading this, then I'm sorry for not being there over the years. You can blame me if you've not had the life you wanted, if it makes you feel better, though the real fault lies at the feet of Voldemort and his bloody Death Eaters. You see, Harry, there's a prophesy out there. I knew the moment I heard it that it was about you, though everyone else says that it __could__ be about the Longbottom boy. I don't believe that for a second, son, and you shouldn't either. If Voldemort has already been disposed of in an appropriate manner – personally, I always thought it would be entertaining to watch the bastard slow-roast over a volcano – then good for you, Harry! If not… Merlin, I don't want you to have to face him. __Ever__. But he won't give you the option to ignore him, Harry. That prophesy won't let either of you loose._

'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives, the one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies.' That's the whole thing. As you can see, it's nothing a parent really wants their child to have to go through._

_Sirius, if you're the one reading this, you have to __promise__ me to tell this to Harry when he's old enough to understand. It's important. Really important. Not the I-just-have-nothing-to-do-so-I'll-prank-someone important, but fate-of-the-world important. Harry __has__ to know this. I don't know why it's so important, just that it __is__. I also know that if it was left up to Albus, Harry won't know of it until it's potentially too late. Too late for what? __I don't know__. Dumbledore's heart is in the right place, it's just his execution that leaves something to be desired. Had he had it his way, I doubt __we__ would have learned of the prophesy at all. Luckily, one of our friends in the Department of Mysteries came through for me. Cost me the last six cases of Granddad's firewhiskey, though._

_Also, if you're reading this and Harry's living with Lily's sister, __GET HIM OUT OF THAT HOUSE!!__ I don't care if you have to __kidnap__ him, don't let Petunia raise Harry. I have __nightmares__ about that. Harry, if for any reason you were left with the Dursleys instead of Sirius, I want you to track down Remus Lupin or Sirius – Merlin, they shouldn't be too hard to find, one usually is near the other… Show them this letter and run away with them. Don't stay with the Dursleys. I can't stress that enough, Harry. __Stay away from the Dursleys__. I can't explain why it's a bad idea, just like I can't explain why I feel compelled to write this, but please… I'm begging. Stay away from them._

_Merlin, there's so much I want to say, but I know I don't have the time. Lily will be back with Harry from the market at any moment, and I don't want to have to try to explain one of my 'silly little hunches' to her again. You know how stubborn she can be…_

_Sirius, you are the best mate a guy could hope for – you're truly the brother I never had._

_Harry, I hope that you manage to best Voldemort and go on to have a long and happy life. Beware the temper of red-heads, though. They're the best kind of girl, but they do have a tendency to bite back… rather hard._

_With all my hope that this proves unnecessary,_

_James Potter_

Somewhere around the second paragraph, Harry had sat down on the floor. The letter created far more questions than it answered, and his head was spinning. "What's it say, Harry?" Dave asked, kneeling down beside the boy. Harry shook his head and handed his uncle the letter. Dave quickly read it and let out a low whistle when he came to the end. "Damn."

"Guys?" Aurilia's voice floated into the vault. "You two about done poking around in there?"

Harry shook himself and called back, "Yeah, Mom. Just a sec!" He put the ring and the letter back into the envelope and slid down the ladder into the room in the trunk once more. He placed the letter back on the desk before returning to Dave in the vault. "Grab the trunk, would you, Dave?"

Dave nodded and hefted the bright blue trunk to his shoulders, noticing that it was much lighter than it should have been – not that he really had any idea how much the average room-in-a-trunk was _supposed_ to weigh.

"What's this?" Aurilia asked when they emerged from the vault.

"A trunk, what's it look like?" Dave sarcastically replied.

"I can see that, but why this one?" Aurilia caught the glimmer of blue and shook her head, "Never mind. I see why. So, are we going to finish up our business here and head home sometime today?"

"Lead on, MacDuff," Dave grinned.

Harry had Dave sit the trunk on the floor of the cart, beneath his and Racknock's feet. They then all piled back into the cart for another harrowing ride to the surface. When the cart pulled to a stop, the wizened old goblin from earlier met them and handed a copy of the scroll from earlier to Aurilia. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," the goblin replied. Harry had the distinct impression that the goblin was rather surprised to be thanked for doing what he saw as his job. Once out in the bright sunlight, Harry had Dave set the trunk down. He had noticed a little knob where the key would normally be on a regular trunk.

"Wonder what this does?" he asked aloud. It had three settings: blue, green, and grey. It was currently set on grey. He turned the knob until the little arrow was pointing at the blue selection and opened the trunk. Instead of the ladder leading to the strange little room, there was a disorganized mess of books and papers. Most of them appeared to be schoolwork and notes, almost entirely in the same slightly-sloppy handwriting as the letter he'd read earlier.

"You didn't bother cleaning it out before bringing it with you?" Aurilia asked, slightly irritated.

"You didn't really give us the chance, Aurilia," Dave replied.

Harry, meanwhile, had closed the trunk and turned the knob to the green section and opened the trunk again. This time, it was full of out-of-date clothes, most of which looked to be too big for Harry. Harry sighed and closed the trunk again. "It's more than it appears, Mom. It has an entire room in it. We'll show ya when we get home. Let's hurry up an' finish up here so we can go."

Aurilia nodded, "If you insist."

Their first stop was at the apothecary – Dumbledore had told Aurilia that it was the best place to get Harry's phials and cauldron. Once finished there, they stopped by Flourish and Blotts, where it took a full hour to hunt down all the books that were both required and recommended. Harry had added a couple of others that looked interesting. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was extremely busy, though. They had to wait in line for nearly an hour while students were called up for their fittings. Harry found himself between a girl with bushy brown hair and her nose buried in a brand-new copy of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, obviously standing with her father as they looked rather alike, and an intimidating old woman who had a stuffed vulture on her hat and a death-grip on a short, round boy who looked somewhat lost. Harry leaned over to the girl with the bushy hair, "Is it interestin'?"

She jumped and looked up from her book, "Pardon?"

"Your book. I was wonderin' if it was all 'at interestin'. I got a copy of it, but ain't read it yet."

The girl grinned, "Yes, it's rather fascinating." Her eyes flicked to the scar on Harry's forehead and shock registered on her face, "My, you're Harry Potter, aren't you?" Luckily, the shop was rather noisy, and the only ones who heard her were Harry, Dave, and Aurilia.

Harry shrugged, "Kinda. My last name's Brewer, though. I was adopted when I was a baby. What's your name?"

"Hermione Granger," the girl tucked the book under her arm and offered her hand.

"Pleased ta meet ya," Harry said shaking her hand. "This is my mom, Aurilia, and my uncle, Dave."

Hermione looked up at the adults, "Pleasure."

"What?" Aurilia looked down. "Oh, hello. Harry, you're up next, after that black boy is done."

"Yeah, I know," he rolled his eyes at his mom, though Aurilia didn't notice. "You goin' to Hogwarts this fall, too?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione beamed, "Yes, I am. This is my last stop for the day. What about you?"

Harry shook his head, "Nope, not done yet. We still have to get me a wand, an' some other stuff, like the telescope."

Hermione's brow furrowed, "Where are you from?" she asked. "I don't think I recognize your accent."

"I live in Iowa with my adopted Mom an' Dad. Dave lives there, too."

"And you're coming to Hogwarts rather than going to a school in the US?"

"Yeah. I wasn't sure if I wanted to or not, but hey… It _is_ a castle. I ain't seen one before, an' if I wanted ta go to the magic school close to home, I'd hafta wait another two years, 'til I was in ninth grade."

After conversing with the famous Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione had to admit to being rather disappointed. He sounded stupid. Luckily, she was saved from having to further the conversation any by Harry's number being called for fittings. "Guess I'll see ya at school, Hermione," he smiled at her. She returned the smile – it _was_ the polite thing to do, after all. Harry hurried up to the fitting platform and tried not to squirm too much during his fitting. When he was done, Aurilia paid for the robes, Dave picked up the bag, and they continued on their way.

Their last stop was Ollivander's, for his wand. Harry had particularly been looking forward to this part. By the time he left, though, Harry was thoroughly freaked out about the wand that chose him, as well as the old man that ran the store. Apparently, he ended up with the brother wand to Voldemort's. He didn't think that was a good sign, especially after reading the letter from his father. To his surprise, they didn't go straight home. Aurilia paused outside a candy store and sighed. She handed Harry the rest of the money from their trip and said, "Go ahead, luz. Have fun, and please _try_ to save some of the money for during school."

"I will, Mom." Harry grinned and grabbed the little leather pouch before heading into the store, his apprehension at his wand momentarily forgotten in the face of so much sugar.

He wasn't quite sure what most of the candies were, so he got a selection of everything that sounded good; chocolate frogs, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, licorice wands, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, acid pops, Droobles Best Blowing Gum, and much, much more. The bag was heavy enough that the shopkeeper took pity on him and cast a lightening charm on it for him.

"Jesus, Harry, did you leave anythin' in the store?" Dave asked when he saw the bag.

Harry nodded, "'Course I did. An' I didn't spend all the money, Mom, so ya don't hafta ask."

"Thank Gaia for small favors," she muttered before leading them back towards the Leaky Cauldron and home.

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**A/N2:** Thanks again for continuing to read! 


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** And here's the last part to 'Raising Harry, Part One: La Vida Muggle'. 'Raising Harry, Part Two: La Vida Hogwarts' is coming soon! The next book will be 'Hogwarts is a Strange Place.'

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**Chapter Ten: The Beginning of an End is More Often Merely the End of a Beginning**

Harry's eleventh birthday was spent at an amusement park called Adventureland in Des Moines. Jim and Dave – as Aurilia hadn't wanted to close the store for two days in a row – took Harry, A.J., and about six of Harry's friends from his Scout troop. The day was spent eating junk food, riding rides, and playing various games. They returned late that night, tired, sore, and sunburned, but they had had fun. For his birthday, Harry received several small gifts from his Scout friends – a pocket-radio, a model car kit, a couple of games and puzzles. A.J.'s family got him his very own 13-inch combo television/VCR. Jim and Dave had obviously known about that, and had gotten him a selection of movies to go with it. Aurilia had broke down and bought a computer, knowing that if Harry was going to go to Hogwarts, he wasn't going to learn how to use one in school.

Now, there were no rules against underage magic in the US, so A.J.'s Nana began showing Harry some of the simpler charms and spells the very next day. When not at Nana's house – which was thankfully one of the homes in Marysville, and thus within biking distance – the pair could be found devouring the books Harry had received from Flourish and Blotts. Nana had cautioned them not to try too much that she'd not shown them, though, as she wasn't particularly powerful and doubted her ability to reverse any nasty spells. They both looked suitably afraid when she described she once had to spend a full week with antlers because she hadn't followed that same advice from her own grandmother.

During the excitement of his birthday, and his subsequent immersion into real magic, Harry had almost forgotten about the blue trunk and all it contained. On a particularly gloomy mid-August afternoon, he finished reading the last of his magic books and began hunting for something else to do when his eyes fell on the bright blue trunk, buried under the bags from their day at Diagon Alley. He squared his shoulders and strode across his room. _Figure I might as well empty out those two compartments, then see if I can't clean up that room some._

The trunk was still set on the green setting, so he opened the lid, noticing his father's initials engraved into the latch. It took him about three hours to sort through all the clothes in that compartment. He sorted them into four piles: To Keep, To Give to Goodwill, To Throw Away, and What on Earth _is_ This?

The pile of stuff he wanted to keep was primarily t-shirts that were magical in origin. There were several shirts for a band called the Weird Sisters that had moving pictures, a couple of quidditch-themed ones, and a couple that had miscellaneous magical animals on them. He particularly liked the black long-sleeved t-shirt that said, 'Never irritate dragons, for thou art crunchy and good with ketchup,' and had the picture of a sleek, green dragon picking its teeth with a bone, a tipped bottle of ketchup at its feet – it was also one of the few shirts that actually fit him. All of the clothes, with the exception of a couple of the t-shirts, were much too big for him, so he folded them and sat them in the back of his closet. The pile of stuff to give to Goodwill was mostly things that appeared neither magical nor worn-out; things like socks and trousers. There were also several ties, most of which were yellow-and-red. Harry kept one of the ties – it was Cyclone colors, after all – and put the rest in the Goodwill pile. The garbage pile was mostly underwear and clothes that were worn out. The last pile was of bits and pieces of cloth that Harry couldn't readily identify. All the robes he had put away, and some of the scraps were the same colors as the robes, but he had no idea what their purposes could be. Jim helped him identify a couple of the pieces later, as there were several formal-style robe sets that weren't dissimilar to their muggle equivalents, but even then, there was still a few things that couldn't be matched up to anything else. Harry put them in a box and shoved it near the box of clothes he'd put away for when he got bigger.

When the clothing was sorted out, Harry went ahead and gathered his uniforms for school and put them in the now-empty compartment. Though he knew the trunk couldn't have been opened for at least ten years, it didn't smell at all musty. _Magic is really cool._ With his own uniforms put away, Harry went ahead and packed some of his normal clothes, too. _Wonder if I'll need to pack my swim-trunks or a snow-suit?_ Harry shrugged and went ahead and packed both. He had several sets of swim-trunks – he wouldn't miss the pair he packed for the remainder of the summer. He also packed one of the large beach-towels from the linen closet.

Finished with that compartment, Harry closed the lid and turned the dial to blue and began the process of sorting through the books and papers he found there. He learned a lot about his biological father during the process – mainly that the man had absolutely _no_ sense of organization. The assignments were all highly-graded, though the letter classification of the grades assigned to the points received was something Harry'd never seen before. He sorted all the papers into their respective classes; Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies. Some of the classes his father had taken for all seven years at Hogwarts, the rest were for anywhere from one to five years. _James must not have liked Muggle Studies all that much, there's only about a year and a half of papers here._ Harry read over some of the assignments for the class and laughed. _No wonder. 'Care and Maintenance of a Longbow,' 'Siege Devices of France,' and 'The Colonies: What Muggle Britain Hopes to Achieve in Building an Empire.'_

When he finished with the actual assignments, he went through and sorted out the class notes the same way, setting the letters and other notes he found in their own pile. When he was done with that, he further divided the piles into chronological order, thankful that his father had, at least, dated everything. He retrieved a three-ring binder from his desk and went through all the notes and assignments, punching holes and putting them in the binder with divider cards for each subject. The letters he put into a folder and sat to the side. He'd read them later.

With all the loose papers out of the way, he retrieved the piles of books and looked through them. Some of them were older editions of the books he already had. He made a note to keep them, though, as most had helpful notes in the margins. There were also several of the more advanced texts. Harry knew he would likely end up with his own editions of many of them, but made a mental note to read them anyway. _After all, knowledge is power. _With that compartment cleaned out, he placed his own books inside, along with the books it came with, and the binder of his father's notes and assignments. A.J. still had his book on Quidditch, though, and he noted a post-it to call her to retrieve it sometime soon. With everything in the book compartment organized, Harry saw that it could still hold quite a bit more. He grinned and added a few things to keep himself busy if he was ever bored: two packs of playing cards, the model of a 1969 mustang he'd received for his birthday – along with the glue and paint he'd need to finish it – a handful of his favorite fiction books, and a couple of games. There was still a lot of empty space, but he figured it was a good start, and he didn't know if he'd need room for more when he returned from school.

Finished with that, he decided to wait until after dinner to tackle the final and largest compartment of the trunk. Dinner that night was meatloaf and mashed potatoes with salad. Harry wondered if wizards ate meatloaf – it was one of his favorite foods, ranking just under pizza and cauliflower nuggets. "So, what have you been up to all day?" Dave asked.

"I was goin' through that trunk from Gringotts," Harry replied around a mouthful of mashed potato. He swallowed, "I went through all the clothes and papers, an' was gonna do that room when dinner was done."

"Room?" Aurilia asked while dodging a thrown glob of something green and mushy. Cyrus didn't like strained peas, and why Aurilia persisted in feeding them to him was anybody's guess.

"Yeah," Harry said. "There's this room in the trunk. 'Member how the inside changed when I turned that dial?" She nodded, wiping up the flung peas. "Well, one of the settings on the dial turns the inside of the trunk into this room that's got a bunch of books, a bed, an' a desk. It's really cool."

"Sounds like," Aurilia agreed. "Why don't we all take a look when dinner's over? I'd like to see this room for myself."

The rest of dinner progressed normally, and when everyone was done Harry led the way to his room and the waiting trunk. Dave had the presence of mind to grab a couple of flashlights and handed them out before they descended into the dark room. Aurilia had Cyrus in a backpack-carrier. When they reached the room, flashlights were turned on and Jim and Aurilia began examining the room.

It was much as Harry had remembered it, about ten feet to each side, wood floors, walls, and ceiling, with one wall an enormous bookshelf, packed to the brim with books and a couple of smaller objects he'd overlooked during his last encounter with the strange room. "There aren't any lamps," Jim said after a few minutes.

"There wouldn't be, dear. Wizards don't use electricity." Aurilia replied while looking through some of the titles on the bookshelf.

"Well, I know that, I meant there aren't any gas or oil lamps. Hellfire, I don't even see anyplace for a candle." Jim said, gesturing around with his flashlight.

Harry suddenly remembered the light spell that Nana had shown him. "Hang on a sec, guys." He hurried up the ladder and retrieved his wand from his desk. He slid back down the ladder a moment later and said, "Lumos."

Much to Harry's surprise, the end of his wand didn't light like it had when Nana taught him and A.J. the spell, instead, there was a bright flash, followed by a dim flicker before the light evened out. Though there weren't any lamps, as Jim had pointed out, several hovering balls of soft yellow light, not unlike the light from a low-wattage light bulb, hovered in various areas around the room. "Well, that's better," his mom said, turning off her flashlight and pocketing it. Jim and Dave followed suit. Harry had left his flashlight on his desk when he retrieved his wand.

"Agreed," Dave said. "Damn, some of these books ain't even in English," he said while looking over Aurilia's shoulder.

"Mmm," Aurilia nodded, "This entire shelf is in German, that one is in Latin, that one's French, I think, and that shelf is entirely in Spanish." She reached out to the Spanish shelf and pulled off a random book, "_Beber de Vida: el Drama del Dios._"

"What's it mean?" Jim asked.

"'To drink of life, the Gods' play,'" Harry automatically replied.

"Righto, my little luz," Aurilia confirmed before putting the book back in its place. Her eyes landed on the desk and saw the envelope, "What's this?" She picked it up.

"Oh… I'd almost forgotten about that," Harry said. "It's a ring and a letter from my biological dad to either me or some guy by the name of Sirius Black."

"Really?" Jim asked, interested. "What's it say?"

Harry shook his head, "Read it yourself. For now, though, I don't think I'll change much in here. Maybe make sure the bedding's cleaned…" Harry trailed off, wondering if normal tape would work to put up a couple of posters, or if he'd have to use the sticking charm Nana had been talking about the day before. Jim, Dave, and Aurilia – still carrying Cy as well as the parchment envelope – went up the ladder, leaving Harry to his business.

Harry strolled over to the desk and began going through it. He didn't find much of consequence, mainly blank parchment, quills, ink, and bars of sealing wax. He did manage to locate a small photo album. Inside the cover was written '_For Prongs, from Padfoot_.' Harry assumed they were nicknames of some sort, though who, exactly, Harry wasn't about to guess. It contained numerous pictures of a teenaged version of himself, only with dark hazel eyes. In the pictures, there was also a tall boy the same age as his biological father who had black hair and bright blue eyes, a small pointy boy with dull brown hair and watery eyes, and a boy of average height with sandy brown hair and golden brown eyes. There were also a couple of pictures where James was sitting with a girl that had long, startlingly vivid red hair and bright green eyes. As most of his books had illustrations, Harry was used to seeing wizarding pictures move, and all of the photos in the album were magical. Harry smiled a little wistfully at the picture of his biological mom and dad dancing at their wedding. _I can't help but wonder how it woulda been different iffen they'd lived…_ He sighed and closed the album, setting back into its drawer. He wondered who the people in it were, he'd recognized his mother and father simply because he knew what he looked like, and Professor Snape had told him that his father looked like he did, and only a blind person would not be able to see that he had his mother's eyes. He took a deep breath and pushed the melancholy air away, _Come on, Harry. Buck up, you've got Mom and Dad and Uncle Dave and Cyrus. Would you rather have them, who you know you love and that love you, or some imaginary parents you don't even remember?_ He squared his shoulders and stripped the bed, noticing with some amusement that even the sheets were red and gold. _Musta been James' favorite colors._

He hauled the bedding up the ladder and deposited it in the hamper in the bathroom down the hall. He stopped at the linen closet and pulled out one of the many sets of dark blue sheets that were meant for his bed, as well as one of the spare pillows. Once back in his room, he paused at his own closet and retrieved two of the extra blankets he had for winter bedding. One was a sky-blue plush, and the other was a patchwork quilt that his mom had told him her grandmother had made. Harry liked it because it was bright and cheerful, not to mention really _warm_.

Once he had the bed made up, he looked around. _It still feels like… Oh, I dunno… a hotel room or somethin'. _Harry trekked back to his room and grabbed a spool of scotch tape and a handful of posters he'd collected over the last few years, but didn't have the wall-space for in his room. It took him several hours to finish putting them up, after first determining that scotch tape worked as well as it always had for him.

When he was done, the room definitely felt more like a place he would be comfortable. There were a couple of posters for the Atlanta Braves – his and Dave's favorite baseball team – as well as a pennant for the team – on which he'd been forced to use thumbtacks, as tape never really worked well on felt. He also had a life-size reproduction of the Declaration of Independence – a gift from his TAG teacher the year before for managing to memorize the entire thing – which he'd affixed to the wall closest to the desk. He also had the Scouts' Motto on a poster he'd received when he earned his twelfth badge, as well as a couple of posters that would have been at home in a science classroom: one showed the Periodic Table of the Elements, another showed an artist's rendition of the evolution of man, and a third depicted the relative size of a six-foot man in comparison to several dinosaurs. The last poster he had pinned up was a collage of multiple photographs he'd put together the previous school year when his class did a project on family. There were photos of his dad, Dave, and himself working with the horses, an old family portrait of him, Jim, and Aurilia, Aurilia and him working with something in a book – if you looked really close, you could see it was a Spanish text – as well as pictures of him with his friends, and a couple of photos of Cyrus. His favorite picture was the one that showed him and A.J. fishing in the pond two summers ago. A.J. was holding up a large bass, looking completely shocked, and Harry was laughing so hard his eyes weren't visible.

Surveying the room, Harry nodded. It was much better. All it needed now were a few things that Harry wasn't going to pack until the night before they left, just in case someone noticed. That weird other-sense, which Harry now knew he shared with his father, had been saying it would be a bad idea to go to school without his rifle. Harry didn't know why, just as he never knew why with that sense, but he would do as it told him. He further knew that he would have to keep it in the trunk-room unless he wanted to lose it to a teacher, at least until he located a charm or spell that would hide it in plain sight. Another thing Harry was going to bring with him was Mr. Blue. Even his mom and dad didn't know but he still slept with it sometimes. He wasn't about to leave the bear behind.

_The letter said a cat, owl, or toad… Wonder if they'd let me bring Missy, even though she's a dog…_ Harry mused. _Naw, better not. 'Sides, those three things're all pretty self-reliant. A dog takes more work. Wonder why it's just those three, though… There are a bunch of animals that make good pets that don't take a lotta work… Meh, better not think on it too much, Harry. There's lotsa things they do that don't make no sense. No pets this year, better wait 'til you get a handle on how they do things._ With that, Harry climbed back up the ladder and began getting ready for bed. He made another note to himself to get a Latin dictionary, as well as one for French and German. Thanks to his mom, the only German he knew were the swear-words and insults. He hadn't realized that sorting through the trunk was so tiring while he was doing so, but he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

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**A/N2:** And that's the end of part one of Raising Harry. Look for the cut scene in coming days, and part two will begin to be posted when it comes back from the ever-so-fantastic beta Aurilia – hopefully in one week. Thanks for reading and reviewing (if you did) and have a happy weekend!. 


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